


Lessons I Learned From Loving You Alone

by ForFun100



Series: Destiny and Defiance: My Headcannon Dragon Age Timeline [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Affairs, Babies, Don't say I didn't warn you, Dubious Consent, F/M, For like anyone, I ruin Celia's life, Loghain's a dick, Marital rape-ish, Oral Sex, Pain, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins, Seriously it's gonna hurt, Tragedy, and feel like garbage about it, author wishes to be fought, broken hearts everywhere, this won't end well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-05-16 16:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 58,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14814654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForFun100/pseuds/ForFun100
Summary: Tell me a tale like no other, tell me about the woman behind the man. Show me a romance meant to die as it was born. Start from the day she died, the day she turned herself over to you. Then tell me how you destroyed her. Tell me the story of how you broke the only woman who could have saved you. AU slight cannon divergence.





	1. Act One

**Author's Note:**

> So… I got to thinking about characters hardly anyone writes about… ya know… so I could make them some fan fic. So, there I was just browsing through characters… and I am now in love with Celia Mac Tir? Why? How!? She's not relevant at all? She has nothing to do with the plot? We know next to nothing about her? I don't know why but she's my one true love. She deserves the world don't tell me otherwise. Cannon divergence because I take some liberties with my new queen… Also, I don't know if you've noticed but the Dragon Age cannon is hella wonky.
> 
> You have any ideas for an under appreciated character, please let me know.

**Act One: The part of the story where they’ll never see it coming.**

History is a funny thing, mostly because no one is ever sure when they’re making it and when a moment will simply remain as such. Certainly, history feels intense, overbearing, like the world is standing still just for the moment to complete. Then it’s into the next breath the world has calmed down, and a new way of life has begun.

But Celia, proud and bold as she ever was, does not feel the world halt for her as she enters Castle Gwaren. In fact, all she feels is the shudder running through her bones as she takes in the desecrated palace. Broken tiles and stone litter the ground, she is certain at one point this palace was the height of civilized culture in the area. However, looking around at the main hall, more light streaming through the crumbling cracks in the walls than the foggy windows, and the grime covered… well everything, Celia is certain her father’s workshop could be more suited for that title than this.

Still she gathers herself and presses forward, heading towards the courtyard, determination overriding her initial disgust. Maker’s Breath, to repair the palace will take more effort than anyone had realized, having been left to the elements since the beginning of the occupation. But this is a new era, a new time for Ferelden to show all of Thedas she is strong and capable.

When her eyes land on the pitched tent her hands clutch instantly at her skirts, this is not happening, the lord meant to restore Gwaren is living in a tent? Her face grows hot, immediately losing all sense of pity for the man, feeling only anger in its place.

She doesn’t exactly make her presence known, instead she lifts one of the tent flaps and walks in, there’s a small makeshift desk and an even smaller bed. Other than those two bits of furniture, if they can be called that, just a trunk and a man with a sour expression plastered to his face.

“Yes, what is it?” He asks, hardly sparing her a glance.

“A-are… Are you supposed to be Teyrn Mac Tir?” She asks practically incredulous.

He lifts his eyes from whatever parchment is so enrapturing and stares at her with furrowed brow. “Unfortunately.”

Celia imagines that if the man were to smile he’d be handsome, strong features, pale grey eyes, and dark hair falling effortlessly around his face. But as she now stands, she’s far too angry to notice anything other than the squalor surrounding him. “What do you mean by that my lordship?”

He winces at the title before offering a sigh, “It means that I have the dishonor of being the man you seek, now, how can I be of help?”

Taken aback by his statement, Celia tries swallowing to avoid lashing out, with minimal success. “So, you intend to berate those beneath your station then. You are our Teyrn no? Do you have any intention of cleaning up your own home? How can we hope for our city if you can’t even repair your own castle, leaving alone the fact that you insult the first person who’s met you face to face since your arrival? Which mind you was a month ago now.”

“I did not ask for anyone to question my authority, woman.” He sneers.

“And I did not come to be spoken down, I came to ask when you intend to abandon us.” She raises her tone, sharpening her words as skilled as a craftsman whittles an arrowhead.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, voice raising to match hers.

“When do you intend to abandon us? How long will you squat here before you give up and go home?”

“Did you just decide that in your own head? I’m not going anywhere, woman.”

“Do not call me woman!” She spits, “And everyone in the city is convinced you intend to leave, just as every lord has.”

“I’ve no intention of leaving, where ever did you get that idea?” His voice has grown into something quite scolding.

“From your living conditions perhaps? Andraste’s sake you’re living in a tent of all things and you’re meant to be our Teyrn? Not to mention we’ve not heard from you in a month!”

“I have been sending for supplies to fix the harbor! Fixing this slum is the last of my concerns!”

“This city, this castle is your new home, whether or not you like it is another matter I don’t particularly care for, but you will not insult my home! Your home no less!”

“And how welcome she has made me feel!” He scoffs.

Celia practically growls, “Perhaps we would have been more forthcoming if the lord of our lands were not such a vile man determined to live in filth!”

“And perhaps I would have been more inclined to attend to you people if my introduction to them were not a shrew of a woman!”

“I was not aware that our new Teyrn was a callow child!”

“Well, thank you for the introduction to Gwaren, nothing has been so outright in the past month and I appreciate the honesty of your people!”

“Have you forgotten that we are the ones that you are working for, my lord? That it is for the betterment of us and Ferelden that you strive for!?”

He slams a hand on the table, “I understand completely, I doubt however that _you_ do. Now I ask that you leave immediately!”

She does not allow the harsh sound to startle and halt her, instead she uses it as a catalyst. Approaching the desk in the silence that is only filled by his bated breath, she too slams the desk, face mere inches from his. “I do understand, my lord, but what you do not understand is this. Unless your freeholders swear fealty to you, you won’t be Teyrn of anything at all. If you so choose to leave this palace crumbling at your feet, we’ll only ever be able to see the desecration that Orlais left in its wake. So, either you rebuild this palace to what it was before the occupation and help us see that Ferelden can move passed this, or pack up and go home, because we won’t want you here.”

The cut of her voice mingles with the venom of her tone, even she is taken aback at the aggression she has just exuded. However, unwilling to show this ‘Teyrn’ just how affected she is, she straightens up and waltzes out of the tent, not sparing a glance back until she is far down the hill and nearing the city walls. Maker… what came over her?

Truth be told, Celia has always been brash, with the mouth of her father that could send even the most skilled orators home with their tail between their legs. Never before had she ever yelled at a nobleman quite like that, suddenly embarrassment takes over, now he’ll surely leave and Gwaren won’t receive the help she desperately deserves. Andraste’s ass what a fool she’s made of herself, he’ll likely run back to Denerim and tell everyone of the wild woman who stormed in and scolded him like a fishwife.

Celia picks up the skirts of her dress, the only one she owns, and runs back to her home. Mother had made her dress up for the occasion, an audience with the Teyrn, and all that. Yet here she is only able to think of getting this clothing off of herself. She feels disgusted, wants to forget any of this has happened.

When she gets back home she storms upstairs and begins to tear herself out of the dress.

“I suppose that means it didn’t go so well?” Katherine, Celia’s sister-in-law, has walked into the bedroom, a smirk on her lips and gentle hands begin to help her with the laces.

“He’s infuriating! Rude!... Ugh, Maker, Katherine he’s a ripe ass that’s what he is!”

Katherine chuckles, “Well considering half the Teyrn heard you shouting I’m hardly surprised.”

“Don’t jest with me.” Celia thrusts her arms out of the dress.

“I’m not, your voice is quite piercing, Celia.” Katherine takes a seat on the bed. “So, tell me, what is the Hero of River Dane’s grand plan, hm?”

“He hasn’t one, he’s an absolute ass, like I said! Kept calling me woman! Can you believe it?!” Celia quickly changes into trousers and a working shirt.

“Hardly, at least he knew you were a woman this time. Or perhaps he mistook you for a young boy traipsing around in a dress.” Katherine chuckles. “Did he say anything else?”

“No, but I doubt he’ll still be here come tomorrow… I’ve really done it this time.” Celia buries her face in her hands, skin burning with flush.

“Come now, I’m sure one harsh woman won’t scare him off. After all, the man won a war, while you are quite the force to be reckoned with, I doubt he’ll go so far as to leave. Unless of course he was already planning to do so.”

Celia shakes her head, “It’s done now, nothing I can do I suppose.”

“Now there’s my headstrong Celia. Welcome back love, now get going your Papa said he wanted you back in the shop as soon as possible.”

“You won’t tell my mother, will you?”

“Of course, I will! I’m just dying to get back down to my embroidery, so I can tell her everything.” Celia shoves Katherine enough to elicit a loud laugh. “Get going, you’ve no time to waste.”

“And you’ve got gossip to spread, evidently.” Celia says leaving the house in much the same whirlwind she entered. The streets of Gwaren are open and so loud the Maker can hear them wherever he is now, Celia loves it.

Entering her father’s shop, she is greeted with the same commotion as always, the racket of building cabinets and the like overwhelming her senses. Her brothers Matthias and Dillion look at her the moment she saunters in.

“You’re back, how did it go?” Matthias, the eldest smiles at her from behind his work.

“I’d rather not discuss it.” She sighs, “Where’s papa?”

“Just took a new order, he’s in the back.” Dillion tells her, “You really don’t want to talk about it?”

“I bet she already told Katherine everything.” Matthias says.

“It isn’t my fault you married her. At least she’s pleasant to be around, can’t say as much for you.” Celia says walking between her brothers to reach the back room.

There she sees her father, sat before his leger smiling behind his work, “Afternoon, my dear.”

“Afternoon, papa.” She returns the smile, “You’ve work for me?”

“Of course, but first tell me of our new Teyrn.” Her smile turns sour at his words, eliciting a laugh from her father, “That bad?”

“Maker’s Breath, papa, he’s absolutely insufferable.” She relays the story in full, much more detailed than the story she told Katherine. Her father, Samuel Garrison is practically her equal, from whom she inherited her abrasive tone and proud demeanor. Even with the grey in his hair and the wrinkles littering his features, he remains complacent to be loud and at times quite boorish. During the occupation he was one of the loudest voices of rebellion, thank the Maker Orlesians thought little of a man who builds cabinets.

Celia has always been closest to her papa, until Matthias married Katherine nearly three months ago, while they’re still in the process of building their new home, they’ve remained in the Garrison family home. She and Katherine have become akin to sisters in the short months since the union, she might go as far as to say she and Katherine are closer than any of those she shares blood with. Except perhaps her father.

Samuel permits her leave once her tale is concluded, out of breath and riled up once more Celia goes to help her brothers. Truth be told she’s not exactly the best at building, in fact she should be married by now, moved on to her own family instead of still working in her father’s shop. Yet, Celia has taken no hand and it seems no one has been particularly interested in her either. She is completely content with this fact, she’s no reason to marry, should she require it, her brothers would not throw her out on the street.

It’s not as though she isn’t a beauty, in fact that might be why she has remained unwed for, so long. Celia Garrison is likely the most beautiful girl in the province, long blonde hair always tied pristinely in the back of her head, bright blue eyes that put the sea to shame, and practically porcelain skin. Beauty coupled with the fury of an archdemon is not something any man seeks in a bride, as beautiful as she is many think it is only when she keeps her mouth shut that she is at her most desirable.

So, Celia works in her father’s shop, balances the books and helps with the building where she can, never a worry in her mind about her lack of husband. Only the remnants of anger in her mind as she begins to balance her father’s books.

When the shop is locked up for the night, and the family begins to head for home, word has spread of her shouting match with the new Teyrn. People are talking loudly and animatedly about the situation, everyone stares at the cabinet maker’s daughter as the family walks home for the evening.

At home things are no less active, when the door opens the youngest siblings rush the group.

“Celia is it true that the new Teyrn is leaving?” Felicity asks, the nine-year-old girl’s voice lilted and almost excited.

“Is it true that you slapped the new Teyrn?” Philip asks, both of the children practically bouncing with excitement and questions.

“Katherine and mother have been filling your heads with nonsense.” Celia chuckles, aggressively ruffling Phillip’s hair, he’s too big for a twelve-year-old, almost taller than Celia herself.

“I’ve done no such thing!” Katherine tilts her head back with a laugh, “Martha will kill you for speaking ill of her you know.” Katherine chuckles her way into Matthias’s arms.

Celia rolls her eyes, “I’d welcome it.”

“Celia don’t say things like that, the Maker will hear you and strike you down where you stand.” Her father chuckles.

“Dinner is on the table and if I must eat by myself I will!” Martha calls from the dining room. The family piles into the small dining room, all eight chairs squeezed in to fit at a table likely only meant to fit four at the most. Martha and Samuel share a kiss as the family talks animatedly to one another, Felicity sat on Matthias’s lap while Dillion and Philip start loading up their plates.

Just as things start settling down, a loud knock rumbles at the front door, halting everyone’s movements. All eyes fall to Samuel, expecting him to stand and answer the door, however, Celia is the one to scoot out her chair and maneuver her way to the door.

There stands a guardsman of the Teyrn holding out a letter to her. “Celia Garrison?”

“Uh… Yes.” She says tentatively grasping the note, “What is this?”

“Missive from Teyrn Loghain.”

She opens the letter and begins skimming the lines, Andraste Preserve her. “Are you serious?” She asks.

“He is entirely.”

“I… Very well.” She nods to the guard, “I will report tomorrow morning.”

The guard nods to her, “Good evening.” And then he’s gone.

Celia turns the letter over in her hand before closing the front door and looking back towards her family. In silence she returns to the table, Matthias ripping the letter from her hands the moment she returns.

“Hey! Matthias, give that back!” She demands reaching for the letter, his hand stills from keeping it out of her reach.

“Maker’s Breath Celia what did you say to the man?” Matthias asks as she rips the letter away.

“I haven’t a clue.” She admits roughly returning to her seat.

“What does it say, Celia?” Her mother asks, voice commanding yet gentle.

“He wants her to lead the rebuilding of the Teyrn.” Matthias blurts out, to which Celia turns and smacks him upside the head.

“Is this true Celia?” Her father asks.

“Yes, papa, I’m to report in the morning.” She stands back up and hands the letter to her father.

After a moment of silence, her father smiles up at his daughter, “Only you, Celia, could ever yell your way into getting what you want.”

Before the sun is up enough for the sky to turn blue that next morning, she’s assembled a team for construction and clean-up of Castle Gwaren. She and Teyrn Loghain begin appraising the castle, trying to determine what needs to be entirely rebuilt and what can be salvaged. When he’s not trying her patience, he’s amiable enough, though Celia will never admit even that.

Once construction is finally underway, the process is relatively quick, with increased trade since the end of the occupation the whole city seems to be working at record paces. As if they can rebuild just the little bit faster, the remnants of Orlais will finally well and truly be gone from Gwaren.

It isn’t long before the palace is practically functioning once more, and Celia is showing the Teyrn his study. As she’s discussing plans to update the guest wing, she can’t help but notice a humor in the air about him.

“Your study, my lord.” She opens to door to the newly furnished study, the room Teyrn Loghain had wanted her to initially begin with. To which she had said ‘I know you’re so unused to the concept, but civilized people use beds.’

As he steps inside there’s a sense of relief that fills her, she can see the Teyrns shoulders drop, like he’s finally taking a moment to breathe. He walks around the office for a short while, perusing the shelves of books and knickknacks before settling down in his chair. Grey eyes landing on her, she is taken aback by the ease that has settled in his gaze.

“How much longer until the castle is fully restored?” He asks.

“About another month, my lord.” She says folding her hands together.

Nodding he pulls out a drawer where she happens to know parchment sits for him. “Maric has asked we hold a ball, part of his ‘restoration of Ferelden tour’ or something to that effect.”

“The king is coming to Gwaren?”

“And why not? We’re one of two Teyrn’s in the country.”

“I… suppose you’re right.”

“Anyhow, the guest chambers need to be finished by then, we’ll have high nobles from all over Ferelden coming to stay with us.”

“When will this be exactly?” Celia feels like her heart is about to stop.

A sly smile followed by a snicker comes from the Teyrn. “A month from now, I’m sending word to Maric as soon as we’re done here.”

“Oh…” She says softly, breath high in her chest as she thinks about all the preparations she’ll need to make for the king’s visit. The king in Gwaren…

“Try not to look so terrified, Celia, it’s unbecoming.”

“Try not to be so cold then.” She says, voice firm yet threatening to falter.

“I expect preparations to be made as soon as possible.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“And make sure to wear something pretty.” The glint in his eye infuriates her.

“This from the man who was content to live in his own courtyard.” She rolls her eyes, something like a laugh emitting from his lips. “Was that all you required, my lord?”

“For now, yes.” In the past month she has spent working with Teyrn Loghain she’s seen glimpses of softness, bits and pieces that when put together could be a smile. Yet everything has an edge to it, a sharpness that she can’t help but collide against. Two personalities that cut and clash at every turn, and somehow, they’ve managed to rebuild a city together.

She finds him infuriating, in a way she sees weakness and a bitterness she can’t name, like he has suffered a lifetime before this one and is still suffering from it. But she cannot deny that once he gets to work he’s committed, that he cares more than he’ll let on. Still, she’ll deny all the hours they’ve spent alone together, how much collaboration went into building a city back up. Even more than that, she’ll deny the attraction she feels for him.

At times she feels as though she does not even like him, the man is an utter vice in her life. No one lights a fire in her quite like Teyrn Loghain, for good and for ill. He makes her want to fight, and also makes her want to prove a sense of worth in herself.

When the day draws to a close, and preparations for the king’s arrival have been made she hurries out of the castle and back towards the city. Then suddenly as she‘s dining with her family, it hits her, Loghain was inviting her to his ball, the gall of that man… She’s to be attending a ball with the king? Madness.

“Celia!” Katherine snaps her fingers in front of Celia’s face.

“What?”

“Martha has asked a question, three times now.” The Garrison table has fallen silent staring at the oldest daughter.

“My apologies mother, what did you ask?”

“I asked if you were feeling well, might I assume you are not?”

“No! No, no, I’m fine I assure you.”

“Liar, liar.” Felicity teases.

“Hush.” Celia says turning back to her plate.

“What’s gotten into you sister? Could it be that something has finally shut you up?” Dillion chuckles, getting a chortle out of Matthias.

“Dillion, watch your mouth.” Martha scolds the boy.

Celia places a hand to cover one of her burning cheeks, when Katherine leans over. “Does this have anything to do with the Teyrn?”

At the very mention of the man Celia’s face burns brighter and she becomes angrier with it. “Leave me be, Katherine!”

“Oh, it is the Teyrn then, tell us what happened Celia.” Dillion chuckles. Gritting her teeth Celia shakes her head.

“Alright that’s enough of that, leave your sister alone.” Martha says, “And all of you need to start eating, I didn’t slave away in the kitchen all day for it to go to waste.”

Celia tries to eat but can’t bring herself to have a little less than half of her meal, suddenly more nervous than she’d thought herself capable. Maker help her, how is she, the cabinet maker’s daughter, supposed to go before the king? How dare he tell her to wear something pretty!?

After dinner she helps her mother and Katherine with the washing up, distracted and pensive in her musings.

“Maker’s breath, Celia, just tell us what’s wrong.” Katherine says firmly.

“Nothing is wrong.” Celia shakes her head as she washes down the countertop.

“You’ll go to the void for that lie, same as stealing.” Her mother says with a smirk.

“I just… Don’t know if I should be discussing it yet.” Celia says nervously.

“Well, you’re in safe company.” Martha says approaching her daughter, “What’s bothering you child?”

Eyes darting to Katherine and then back to her mother, Celia tells them of the king’s visit, and the Teyrn’s invitation to the ball.

“Oh Maker, Celia.” Katherine breathes heavily.

“It’s probably not even a proper invitation, and even if it is he means nothing by it!” Celia claims, embarrassed to have spoken the words aloud.

“Of course, he means it, Celia! Perhaps he intends to court you.” Katherine’s got that gossip’s gleam in her eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, he means nothing by it at all. I’ll be there as the one who rebuilt the palace and-”

“Child, listen to yourself.” Martha says with a laugh, “We’ll have to set aside time to go to the seamstress.”

“No, absolutely not. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You are meeting the king, Celia, you need to be looking your best.”

“I won’t be meeting the king, I’ll be at a party where the king happens to be attending.”

“Teyrn Loghain and King Maric are good friends no? It’s likely you’ll be meeting him.”

“No, it isn’t… I just-”

“We’re going to the seamstress by the weeks end.” Martha says resolutely as she pats her daughter’s cheek and waltzes out of the kitchen.

“You’re going to meet the king Celia, aren’t you excited?” Katherine asks genuinely worried.

“That abhorrent man told me to look pretty for him, Katherine. I am most assuredly not looking forward to this.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“Not even a little tiny bit.”

“Hm… Well, at the very least, make the most of the situation, won’t you?”

Celia shakes her head and follows after her mother. By the end of the week, Celia’s ordered a dress for the ball, something far too expensive to actually wear. The very next day, a festival is announced for those remaining in town, the higher standing families have been invited to the ball, and of course the Garrison girl.

Teyrn Loghain does not bring up the matter to her again, unless to ask about the progress of the guest wing and the city. She prefers it this way, prefers the way he talks to her when it’s business as usual. Every now and then a biting comment she quickly retorts, the ease of this is frightening to her. In the span of two months she has come to be accustomed to the short quips they share.

She comes to realize that he may actually be comfortable around her, that this is him relaxed. Maybe this back and forth game of insults is just that to him, merely a game. This time, she may have been the only one defensive.

The day of the king’s arrival, Celia is as busy as she’s ever been, buzzing around the castle ensuring servants are doing as they’re bid. The first to arrive is the Teyrn of Highever, and Celia only catches a glimpse of Loghain greeting his guests. The two men hug, an odd thing for Loghain, she notes but does not dwell on it, she has far too many things to do.

Then the Arls from Redcliff, West Hills, Amaranthine, and South Reach. The Arl of Denerim arrives with the king, but the sudden influx of guests has Celia so flustered she can’t rightly name every person in the palace. She is practically at the beck and call of each need of the lords and ladies.

As the day draws to a close and supper is about to be served, Celia prepares for home; she has to pick up her dress on her way so she knows that she must hurry. She’s already spent far too long at the palace today, but as she’s about to head out, a hand on her arm pulls her back.

Turning sharply, she smacks her captor as hard as she can, only to see it’s the Teyrn himself.

After the shock falls away she says, “Don’t you know not to grab young ladies? Where in the void were you raised?” Despite the strong words coming out of her mouth she feels hot embarrassment creeping up on her.

“My apologies, I merely meant to ask if you’re ready for tomorrow.” He’s got some strange airy… could that be humor in his tone? Is he humored by the fact that she’s just attacked him?

“Of course, my lord, everything has been prepared precisely.” She’s almost insulted that he’d doubt her.

“Not that, I mean you, you are coming tomorrow yes?”

“I… am, of course.” She nods to him.

“Good, then I’ll see you tomorrow night.” He releases her arm and walks away back down the corridor. She finds herself lingering for a moment longer before rushing out of the castle. A worry rises in her gut, the effect he has on her is terrifying. Making her nervous and angry… and something else she does not know how to name, all at once.

She hurries to the dressmaker’s before finally returning home, dinner long since over, and the usual evening activities have begun. Until Celia walks in, the family’s attention is immediately on her, asking after all of the fine lords and ladies she’s seen.

With laughter and a bit of flourishing, she answers every question thrown her way, before managing to excuse herself to bed. Tired and nervous she escapes up to her bedroom, sleep finds her, despite her initial fear that her nerves would keep her up all night.

Morning comes with large celebration; the rest of town has taken to holding a festival in celebration for the revival of Gwaren. Merriment has already filled the streets of the city and the Garrison household is loud as it ever was. The two youngest children eager to get out of the house, Matthias and Katherine are charged with taking them, Dillion has already left with his friends, out to look for a woman to harass no doubt.

Martha and Samul are taking the day to sleep in before the nightly festivities, and Celia has decided to spend the morning and afternoon resting as well. She’s never been to a ball before, doesn’t even fully know what it entails, but she does know that these types of things last long into the night, sometimes bleeding into the next morning.

So, she rests for the morning, Katherine returns some time just after noon, bringing with her meals for Celia and her parents. While Celia eats, Katherine begins to help her ready for the ball, tells her not to say a word. “You’ll hardly recognize yourself in the best way possible.” She says before taking Celia’s hair and brushing through it.

Celia begins to protest when she realizes Katherine intends to leave her hair mostly down, “It’ll be far too hot, Katherine, it’s summer.”

“Not a word I said.” Katherine chuckles, “You’re going to look soft for once my dear, Celia, whether you like it or not. Now stay silent or I’ll leave you to your own devices”

“And we can’t have that can we?” Celia folds her arms over her chest with a false pout on her lips.

“Absolutely not! You’d go in work trousers and a tunic if you had your way.” Katherine laughs continuing her braids.

Celia hates to admit – and so she won’t – but there’s never been a time she felt so pretty, in a new green velvet dress so dark it’s nearly black. She rarely has clothes so new or so beautiful to wear, and she isn’t entirely sure how she feels about wearing a dress like this. Still, she turns and hugs her sister-in-law, thanks her for all she’s done and readies to leave for the castle.

Matthias has returned, both of the children asleep on the sitting room furniture. Martha and Samuel are beginning to prepare for their own excursion to the festivities. Celia’s mother brushes back a few stray hairs before holding her daughter close, Samuel similarly embraces his daughter before kissing her forehead.

“Don’t come back married.” Matthias teases.

“In that case I wouldn’t come back at all.” She retorts. He drags her into an almost aggressive hug, which his wife scolds him for.

“I didn’t spend three hours getting her beautiful for you to ruin it.” She smacks his shoulder.

Just as Celia is about to leave, there’s a knock at the door, when Samuel answers it, they find that the Teyrn has sent a carriage to bring her to the palace. Maker forbid she ever do anything for herself, she thinks bitterly, nevertheless she climbs into the carriage nerves returning as she rides to the castle.

Breathing in deeply, Celia reminds herself that the world is still moving, that time is still real. Even as the sun is just about gone from the sky, time is still flowing around her.

Arriving at the palace she is able to observe her work in the pale twilight; the castle is something to be proud of. Tall, imposing, and practically indestructible, this is what Ferelden deserves to see, that she can rebuild.

The main hall is loud and filled with guests milling about, socializing and dancing just as she’d always pictured. Many of the guests she recognizes as the highest merchants and other nobles from Gwaren, the musicians are also those she recognizes. Then there are the noblemen and women that she barely glanced at the other day.

She is quickly overwhelmed with all of the commotion going on around her, feeling almost stupid she decides to busy herself with work. Approaching the nobles, she recognizes as guests, asking about their lodgings. They’ve nothing to say but sing her praises, that Gwaren has really taken the lead in rebuilding Ferelden.

As she is speaking to the Bann of West Hill, she spots Teyrn Loghain, sees his head tilted back with laughter. He looks so at ease and calm, well perhaps not calm, but definitely in his element. A thought passes through her mind, that she was right upon their initial meeting, he’s much more handsome when he smiles.

She continues to weave in-between the crowd, shaking hands and ensuring that everyone in attendance has been received well.

She feels his hand before she sees him, turning around to look at the Teyrn she sees his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. A wave of nervousness rolls in her stomach as she locks eyes with him.

“You look lovely.”

Celia’s hand reaches up to play with the end of her thick braid, “I aim to please.” The words feel foreign and perfect all at once, as he shakes off his trance, raising her hand to kiss the back of it.

“Would you dance with me?” He asks, she’s never heard his voice hushed, but that is the only word she can find for what this is.

“You dance?” She asks skeptically.

“I never said that…” He says, “I just… Would you?”

“Of course, my lord.” She bows to him before he takes her onto the dance floor. Unable to quell the anxiety in her gut, she tries to clear her mind of any thought other than dancing. Once the music begins she finds her eyes locked with his, Teyrn Loghain is not a captivating person, but in this instant somehow, he has taken over all of her.

“Is everything to your liking, my lord?” She asks trying to fight off the buddle up nerves inside her.

“Oh yes, now if only we could rid ourselves of all these self-righteous noblemen.”

She finds herself chuckling, “You look quite comfortable among them.”

“Do I?” He asks with a familiar smirk.

“You were laughing.”

“Ah yes, Maric has that effect on people I suppose.” He seems embarrassed by her statement, nevertheless she persists.

“These are your sort of people are they not? You’re Teyrn after all.”

“Believe it or not, Celia, when I was born I was far beneath your rank.”

“I’ve heard, but you’re among them now. Is it strange?”

“It’s… something for sure.” He says hesitantly.

“What does that mean?” She asks so gently she doesn’t recognize the words coming from her own lips. The song ends and the two of them bow to one another, just as she’s about to turn to leave the dance floor, he grabs her hand and pulls her back into his arms. A thin gasp escapes her, eyes wide as her gaze remains on him. He’s got a smirk more confident than he must feel.

“We aren’t done, not yet.” He says.

“We aren’t?” She asks.

“No. I’ve yet to answer your question.” He starts as the next dance begins, “I mean this; noblemen and common men, don’t have to be all that different. Maric is meant to be the best of all of us, and while he is the best man I’ve ever known, he views me as an equal.”

“Perhaps that’s what makes him such a good king.” Celia suggests.

“Perhaps.” He falls silent, looking around her features as if searching for something. The scrutiny confuses her, what could he possibly be looking for?

Their dance soon ends, and Celia prepares to disappear back into the crowd, but Teyrn Loghain tucks her hand into the crook of his arm.

“What are you doing?” She asks.

“Escorting you from the dance floor, what else?” He says with a raised brow, “Who were you speaking with earlier?”

“I was speaking with the nobles staying in the palace to ensure their lodgings are suitable.”

“You’re here as a guest, Celia.”

“I…” She’s nothing to say to that, instead she stares at the Teyrn incredulously.

“Come with me, I’ve someone to introduce you to.”

She knows instantly that he means the king, trying to step back and away she says. “Oh, I couldn’t just-”

“Why not?” He asks, brow furrowed.

“I just, I couldn’t… I can’t… I’m just a cabinet maker’s daughter, I’ve no place meeting the king.”

He looks at her in a sad almost tender way, taking her hand, he says. “You know that Maric hasn’t a care in the world what anyone’s station is.”

“And how exactly would I know that?”

“Because neither do you, obviously.” He laughs. “You yell at me constantly.”

“That’s not true.” She says with a blush crawling up her cheeks.

“No, I suppose not… But you and I just had this conversation, did we not? Just come with me, I promise you’ve nothing to fear.”

“I…” Taking a deep breath she nods, following him back towards the entourage she’d seen the Teyrn in before. Two women and four men, Celia’s heart clenches in her chest as she realizes, these people are the most powerful people in the country.

“I thought you’d never come back you old ninny.” One of the men laughs.

“And why wouldn’t I, Maric? With generosity such as that.” The Teyrn laughs along with the king. Maker help her, the king.

“And who exactly is this, that’s caught your attention?” Another man beside the king asks.

“This is the woman who rebuilt Gwaren, Celia.” He puts a hand on the small of her back to present her.

King Maric laughs, “Did you really? Splendid work, it was no easy task I imagine.”

“I-… Thank you your majesty.” She bows to him.

“Celia this is King Maric and his wife, Queen Rowan.” The hitch in his voice brings many a question to the front of Celia’s mind but she curtsies to the couple despite this.

“A pleasure to meet you.” The queen’s voice is hushed as she nods her head. Queen Rowan is a picture to behold, dark hair and sad eyes. She looks akin to the sculptures of Andraste, so beautiful she’s almost divine to look at.

“This is Teyrn of Highever Bryce Cousland and his wife Eleanor, Arl Eamon Guerrin of Redcliff, and Arl Rendon Howe of Amaranthine.”

“It is an honor to meet you all.” She keeps her voice even, albeit softer than she thought possible.

“You look lovely, Celia, where did you have that dress made?” Teyrna Eleanor asks with a sweet smile.

“Uh… Here in Gwaren, my lady.”

“Oh, I take it you’ve always lived here then?” She asks.

 “Yes.” Celia feels her voice lodged in her throat, eyes wandering between the high lords and ladies. Queen Rowan is looking off with a sort of longing Celia can’t quite pin point, King Maric and Teyrn Loghain seem to be having a conversation without words.

“I am to assume that you are the seneschal’s daughter then?” Arl Eamon asks.

Celia looks at him unsure of how to go about explaining Gwaren’s particular situation. Teyrn Loghain intervenes before she can muster so much as a thought with, “No, there is no seneschal here just yet.”

“No seneschal in a Teyrn as large as Gwaren? How strange.”

“We’ve had to build up from scratch.” He responds with ease.

“So, you are interim seneschal then?” Teyrn Cousland asks, “I’m merely curious as to how you rebuilt the castle.”

“Oh well I…”

“She smacked some sense into me, that’s the truth.” Teyrn Loghain says with a laugh.

“I did no such thing.” She turns to look at him sharply.

“Half the Teyrn heard you scold me.” He chuckles.

“And you probably deserved it.” Eleanor says.

“That’s beside the point, my lady.” Teyrn Loghain laughs.

“Oh of course it is.” King Maric shakes his head, “Might I have the next dance Celia? Perhaps save you from anymore of Loghain’s blundering.”

“I’d be honored your majesty-” Just as she’s about to rattle off a list of reasons why she shouldn’t dance with the king, he whisks her away and onto the dance floor. Andraste preserve her, this can’t possibly be happening, none of this is real...

But Maric has a firm grip and a bright smile on his face as they begin to dance.

“Loghain never told me he has a sweetheart, tell me about yourself.”

“Oh, Maker’s Breath I’m not his sweetheart, your majesty. I’ve been leading the reconstruction efforts, nothing more.”

“Ah, I see, forgive me my lady, Loghain’s not exactly the most forthright with his intentions. I can tell what he’s thinking even when he doesn’t know how to express it. Unfortunately, he has the same penchant with me.”

Her face is so warm she’s afraid she may faint, Maker help her. “I’m sorry but I don’t see anyway that you could think we’re involved.”

Maric keeps the humor in his tone and his smile, but shakes his head, “Well then, for your own records, Loghain has this tendency to um… well to keep things even from himself, he’s a good man but not necessarily a kind man.”

“I have noticed that, I suppose.” Celia feels her chest tightening at the thought of Loghain being interested in her. She’s not blind, nor stupid, Loghain has taken an interest in her but she assumed it was all a part of their game. Perhaps there is no game at all, maybe that’s just who he is? That can’t be…

“Ah, Loghain seems to know I’m speaking of him. He’s got that funny little scowl he gets when he knows I’m tramping on his toes.” Maric gives a laugh.

“You do this often I take it.” Celia chuckles with him.

“Oh yes, have to keep men like him in line, remind him there’s a brighter side to things.”

“I would have never guessed that you took that role.”

“You do a lot of silly things for the people you care about.”

“How strange for a man of your station to think.”

“Is it strange for a king to be willing to do whatever it takes for his charges? Even if it means acting a little bit silly from time to time?”

“No, when you put it that way I suppose not.” The song ends and the two bow to one another.

“Thank you, my lady. You’re an excellent dancer.”

“You flatter me, your majesty.”

King Maric laughs, “I tend to do that, yes.” He leads her back to the much smaller group of nobles, only Arl Rendon and Arl Eamon have remained.

“Ah, Celia, there you.” Arl Eamon smiles at her, drink in hand, “I want to hear about Gwaren from a native’s perspective.”

Arl Rendon scoffs a bit, “Get on with it Eamon, you want to know if she has noble blood, you prick.”

“Rendon, bite your tongue around the lady, would you?” Maric gives a sigh that still sounds jovial.

“I would if Eamon would shut his trap about how it’s improper for a lady of her standing to be dancing with the King and the Teyrn.” The Arl folds his arms over his chest.

“You mistook me Howe, I merely meant that I know so little about her, that I’m uncertain how she came to know our Loghain so well.” Arl Eamon looks taken aback.

“No, I did not, you said, and I quote, ‘She’s beautiful for sure but who know what kind of blood courses through her veins.’ Exactly.”

“I said no such thing.”

“Silence, the both of you, have you forgotten that the lady is right here?” King Maric says in a voice so deep and resolute she sees him less a joking boy and more the king he is.

“Perhaps the lady should answer, no?” Celia finds her courage from somewhere inside of her, “It’s true I’ve not a drop of noble blood in me, I am merely a cabinet maker’s daughter. But I am also the one who rebuilt this Teyrn, when our lord was resigned, nay content, to living in a pitched tent in the courtyard.”

“Maker’s Breath, did he really do that?” Maric turns to her.

“He did, it was quite the sight.” She chuckles, nervousness creeping back up on her. “Despite that, we’ve managed to rebuild, and at the end of the day isn’t that far superior to blood?”

Arl Eamon doesn’t answer, instead Teyrn Cousland returns with his wife, and a silence falls on the group of nobles. Realizing what she has done, Celia quickly excuses herself and starts to hurry away. She’s just sassed the Arl of Redcliff, what in the name of the void is wrong with her?

She catches the gaze of Teyrn Loghain, panic rising in her throat she turns swiftly away, lifting her skirts she hurries towards the nearest door. Outside in the courtyard, the air is cool and refreshing, she’s tempted to run away. To leave this place and perhaps never return, but the panic makes her knees far too weak to run. Instead she sinks down onto a cold stone bench and cradles her head in her hands.

“Andraste’s ass, Celia, you’ve truly out done yourself. Sass one noble sass all of them why don’t you? Oh Maker, why don’t you ever learn to bite your damned tongue? Why couldn’t you have been born mute?”

“What happened?”

Celia gasps at the sound of Loghain walking up behind her, “Maker’s Breath, don’t startle me like that.”

He says nothing but sits beside her, she barely manages to gather her skirts her hands are shaking so terribly. He seems to notice this as well, and takes one of her hands in his own, voice as sure as ever. “Why are you trembling? What happened?”

“It was… Nothing, I’m being sensitive.” She says without looking up at the Teyrn.

“I’ve never seen you panicked before.” He says.

“That…”

“Don’t tell me that wasn’t panic, you were white as a sheet. I’ve never seen you talk to yourself either, so something must have really troubled you.” He’s much closer now, just close enough that her body can react to the closeness without him touching any part of her but her hand.

“Thank you, for your concern.”

“What happened?”

“I told you, I’m just being sensitive. It’s something I’ve got to work on.” She takes her hand back before glancing up to see him, he’s much closer than she had initially thought. His body mere inches away from hers, head craned down to look right into her eyes.

“Are you certain?”

“I- am. Yes.”

“You’re so nervous, Celia.”

“You’re very close, my lord.”

He says nothing, looks at her with a softness she does not feel deserving of, or maybe she’s afraid of something else she does not understand. “I’m sorry.” He says, “I did not intend to make you uncomfortable.”

“What do you mean?” She asks.

“I mean exactly as I’ve said.”

The two of them stare at one another eyes locked, together as if this contact is a necessity. The nervousness in Celia’s chest feels too tight, like the strain will cave in on her heart.

“Celia…” He says again voice lilted and gentle.

“Yes?” She whispers.

“I how do you feel about me?” He sounds as resolute and sure as ever, even asking such a ridiculous childish question.

Was King Maric right? Does Teyrn Loghain see her as a sweetheart of sorts?

“I…” He’s taken a hold of her hand once more, the trembling even more prominent than before. Mind completely empty, all she feels in the warmth and the roughness of his skin against hers. “You’re positively infuriating, and-and you make me feel foolish and absurd. Like everything I do is wrong, or as if I’m such a trial to be around… And it’s… Then I suppose…”

He says nothing, just looks at her expectantly, silently begging her to continue. But she’s afraid to, doesn’t know if the words will manifest correctly, is there even a word for what she feels for him?

“You make me feel dizzy, like I’m sick or… No not sick, nervous perhaps?... Oh Maker, what am I saying?” She asks, taking her free hand to cover her cheek. In the silence his other hand has lifted to hers, resting just overtop gently guiding her gaze back up to his; as her eyes lift from her feet back to his face, she notices the croocked angle of his smile. Why in the name of the Maker is he smiling?

“Marry me Celia.”

Her eyes grow wide at his statement, this can’t be happening, this is not real. Is it? “What?”

“I want you to be my wife.”

His hand still rests on her cheek, she’s lost all ability to think, lost any sense she once had in her head. “Why?”

“I think you love me, and I think I love you too. Aside from that it’s no secret you’ve been running the show here, rebuilding and such. You’d make an excellent Teyrna.” Suddenly he leans down, presses a kiss to her lips, brief and chaste in intention, yet the shock weighs heavily in her gut. Everything Celia’s ever known has just been twisted, turned upside down, and still she finds herself unable to be angry. Why isn’t she angry? Where is her anger? What is happening to her?

“I leave for Denerim in a week, and return in two months, time. I’d like an answer by the time I return.” His voice is hardly above a whisper, and soon he’s walking away, leaving her stuck in her shock. Once the initial jarring statement has washed over her entirely, she feels the sickness rising in the back of her throat. Feels anxiety and stress welling up in the back of her eyes, all at once she feels everything. Anger at him for making her act like this. Then the fear of being asked to wed creeps up on her. She’s only known the bloody man for two months how can he just ask her to marry him?

Just as quickly as the onslaught of emotion came, they’re all gone, numbness replacing all of those things. The numbness comes fast and hits hard, the night air feeling just as hot and stuffy as inside the castle, and Maker’s Breath what is she to do? In the distance, she can hear the happenings at the festival in town, she could have been there instead of being trapped at Castle Gwaren. What kind of sick game is the Maker playing at?

Deciding that numbness she can handle, when compared to the previous messiness of emotion, Celia gathers herself and walks right back into the party. Things are just getting exciting, the dance floor full, people are drinking and laughing. The sight of all these beautiful men and women making merry, fills Celia with a sense of pride. Of establishment, she has done all of this, it’s bloody time she starts enjoying it.

She spends the rest of the evening introducing herself to noblemen asking after their accommodations, and Gwaren as a whole. By the time the last song of the night is played, and the serving girls begin to tidy up, the morning sun is rising.

Exhausted from the festivities, Celia sets out for home still full of jumbled thoughts as she goes. She walks in just after breakfast, the men preparing to head out for their workshop.

“Celia’s back!” Felicity shouts jumping into her sister’s arms. “The festival yesterday was so much fun Celia! Did you have fun too?”

Celia smiles at her little sister, “Yes, of course I had fun, but I’m very tired right now.”

“Oh, you must be, look at you. The suns up and you’re hardly staggering home, like any fine lady should.” Katherine chuckles approaching her with a hug.

“You’re not engaged to some nobleman are you sister?” Matthias teases.

Despite the catch in her throat Celia glares at him, “No of course not.”

“How unfortunate, that was probably the last time you’d be able to find a suitable husband. I suppose now you’re an old maid.” Dillion laughs before being swatted from behind by Martha.

“You have to tell us everything Celia! What was the palace like? What was the party like?” Katherine speaks quickly almost as if she’s a child.

“It was…” Celia shakes her head trying to think of a word for what that was. “Exhausting.”

“Alright, I get it, go take your nap, my lady. Tell me more when you wake up.” Katherine giggles squeezing both of Celia’s hands. Celia walks past her parents, allowing them to kiss her cheeks before hurrying up the stairs and into bed.

For the next few days, Celia mulls over Teyrn Loghain’s question, she stays clear of the man when at the palace, which proves to be quite easy. Perhaps he is just as confused by the notion as she, or maybe his remaining house guests require all of his attention. Whatever the case, she’s grateful.

Then one night after supper, instead of spending the evening doing embroidery with her mother and Katherine, she seeks her father’s council. Their house, while big for their status, only has so much room for the family of eight, Celia still shares a bed with Felicity after all. But there’s a small room just off the kitchen that Samuel has claimed as his office, the only room with books and the like.

There Celia tells her father everything of Teyrn Loghain’s proposal, and by the time she’s finished speaking he nearly has tears in his eyes.

“He does intend to ask me for your hand, yes?”

“I think he’s waiting for my answer.” She says, both hands on either side of her face.

“And how do you feel about this?”

“Too many things, papa… I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you not wish to marry the Teyrn?”

“I don’t know… Oh Maker I don’t know.”

“And what is keeping you from it?”

“I’m not a noble, papa. He’s Teyrn, he should marry an Arl’s daughter. Not me.”

“Why not you? He chose you Celia.” In the silence her father stands up and grabs a book from off the shelf. It’s a worn book of fairy stories, Celia and her siblings learned to read from this book, her hand runs along the worn cover as her father places it before her. “You know your answer, Celia. It’s just not the one you’d like to hear.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t like people ruining your plans. And he’s just ruined everything.” Shaking her head, she looks at the book beneath her fingers. “You know what’s right Celia, it’s time you start trusting your heart.”

Silently she takes the book and stands up, “I’m surprised you didn’t say how mother would never forgive me if I turned him down.”

“She’d never know.” He winks at her. “Now go.”

Slipping out of the house she races down the roads back towards the castle feet flying beneath her as if she’s trying to outrun her fears. Soon the castle is under her feet, and she’s not even knocked on Loghain’s door before entering. Praise Andraste he’s alone, and looking quite startled at her sudden appearance.

“Celia, what a surprise.” He says, having stood from his desk in his shock, pen still slightly in hand.

She closes the door behind her squeezing her book to her chest.

“I’m surprised to be seeing you, I thought I wouldn’t have the chance.” He says rounding his desk to approach her, she meets him halfway staring up at him without an inkling of what’s to come. Thousands of thoughts filter through her mind, what if he’s decided to retract his proposal? What if he was joking?

Her voice takes over, sure as ever, “I have your answer, my lord.”

He chuckles, closing his eyes and shaking his head, “Why do I feel as if I’m about to be scolded, or given a firm talking to?”

“I accept your proposal.” She says, and for the first time sees his ever cool and composed demeanor falter; Like he was expecting her to deny him her hand and part of her thinks perhaps she should have. Then she remembers just how little time they’ve spent together and she realizes the weight of what she’s done. His eyes are wide and shock registers across his face. Before she knows what she’s doing, she’s pushing the book into his hand. “I will be your bride.”

He looks down at the book in his hands, wild eyes and breathy tone. “What’s this?”

“In Gwaren, we have this age-old tradition, the bride to be gives her intended a gift that is invaluable… It’s a bit silly, I’ll admit, but I’m giving you my childhood book of tales. Knowledge is invaluable, and all that, the lessons we learn as children give us more than we ever fully realize… What I’m saying is take this, it’s yours now.”

He looks at the book and then looks back up at her, “That’s… sweet.” The shock of this all seems to be hitting the man full force, “To be honest I didn’t mean to be so forward with you… I wanted to ask to court you but… I suppose that’s unnecessary now isn’t it?” He chuckles a bit placing his hand behind her neck he pulls her into a kiss. A nervous kind of kiss that’s tight and trembling.

“I should ask your father for your hand… And the wedding preparations must begin immediately.”

“I can handle that.” She says.

“Right… Let’s go.”

“Where?” She asks.

“To ask for your father’s blessing.”

“Right now?” She asks incredulously.

“You’re the one barging in here in the middle of the night.” He laughs, actually laughs.

“Well I-… I…”

He kisses her again smile still gentle on his face, “Let’s go.”

She doesn’t hesitate to follow him, until he realizes he does not know where exactly she lives. In fact, this is probably the first time he’s been into the city of Gwaren. Slipping her hand in his, Celia takes lead of her soon-to-be-husband… fiancé, Loghain Mac Tir is her fiancé, Andraste preserve her, she’s getting married.

They’re at the door to her small home in almost no time at all. She pauses, breath stuck in her chest, Loghain’s retained his grip on her hand, and she can’t fight the nervousness inside of her. Opening the door, she sees her family gathered in the living room, just as she had left them, her father leaning against the kitchen door, eyes glinting as they land on her flushed face.

“I expect you’ve a reason as to why you’re running out of the house at this time of night, Celia.” Her mother says shortly, not looking up from her work.

Celia opens the door turning back to face Loghain, “Come in… Please.”

He says nothing, but for a moment hesitates to walk inside, Celia’s face tinges pink as the two walk inside. Loghain’s eyes dart around the home before landing on her father, he wastes no time approaching him, determination in his gait.

“Might I have a word, sir?” He asks without ceremony; Celia’s face burns brightly now and her heart absolutely thunders in her chest.

“Of course, my lord.” Her father gestures for him to follow, the two no-nonsense men disappear just as Celia closes the front door.

“Maker’s Breath Celia what did you do?” Matthias asks.

“I didn’t do anything!” She lets out the pent-up breath in her chest.

“Then what in Andraste’s name is the Teyrn doing here?” Dillion asks in a harsh low whisper.

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s come to ask for her hand!” Katherine is up from her seat and grasping Celia’s hands. “He has, hasn’t he?”

“Stop it Katherine.” Celia is breathless and far too warm, never in her life has she ever felt so… well felt so much.

“I thought you weren’t engaged.” Matthias says standing from his seat.

“I wasn’t… yet.” Celia steals her hands from Katherine to cover her scorching skin, how long have her hands been sweating like this?

“Is Celia getting married?” Felicity asks her mother.

“I didn’t know the Teyrn intended your hand, why didn’t you say anything?” Her mother looks shocked, perhaps angry to an extent.

“I… I didn’t… Maker’s Breath.” Celia walks over to the door her father and her intended walked through and leans against the wall.

“I thought you weren’t ever getting married Celia.” Phillip says.

“I wasn’t! I just… ugh.”

“What changed?” Matthias asks, “Is he forcing you to marry him?”

“Oh dear, don’t be ridiculous nobody could force her to do anything.” Katherine says waltzing back to her sister-in-law. “Did he ask you? At the ball?”

A choppy nod sends Katherine into a giggling fit, as Matthias folds his arms, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Celia wants them all to stop talking, her head is already spinning, the world is all kinds of out of sorts. Could this be love? Could this be fate weaving itself together? She feels ill, is this a sickness? Nervousness? Excitement? Maker what is this?

The barrage of questions ceases as soon as it becomes abundantly clear that Celia is not answering anymore of them. She stands by the door quivering, confused, holding her own arms tightly. Nauseated and terrified, she hears the door open.

First her father and then Loghain, the two lock eyes the moment he finds her. Not a word is said before he places a gentle kiss on the crown of her head, her body finally relaxes at his touch.

“You’ll begin preparations… Yes?”

“Yes.” She responds, eyes wide and boring into him.

“Good… Thank you, Celia, you’ve… you’ve made me a happy man.” And with that he walks out of the house, not even acknowledging the presence of her family.

She feels Katherine’s arms around her, feels the presence of her entire family surrounding her. Yet inexplicitly, Celia wants to cry, wants to be afraid, feels like she’s sold herself but to what she isn’t certain.

There is a whirlwind of time that passes her by, and in the blink of an eye she’s getting married. The day of her wedding has arrived, and she cannot _breathe_ she’s so nervous. Her trembling body feels like it is not her own, the sounds of joy and merriment from the street sound muffled, perhaps she’s still in the fade. Not sitting for the last time in her childhood home, not in her stone-grey wedding dress, not already near tears.

Her mother comes to get her, Martha’s dawning her finest and smiles at her daughter brightly, like the rest of the world isn’t waiting for her. Celia has played hostess to every noble in the country once again, this time however, with much more weight. While before she was no more than a facilitator, now she is engaged to the Teyrn. She has so much more responsibility on her, now more than ever.

There’s mobs of people outside the small cabinet maker’s home, applause rippling through the tide of well-wishers. There’ll be festivities well into the night, a wedding of this proportion warrants constant celebration, or so she’s been told.

The open carriage awaits her, her father’s hand extended to help her in, her siblings are already enroute to the chantry. Loghain must already be waiting by now, and her stomach is twisted up in knots at the very thought.

The carriage halts at the chantry doors, Celia’s hands grip her father’s arm, panic surging through her body. Maker’s Breath, for a good minute she can’t do anything but hold her breath, waiting for the coachman to open the door, for her mother to walk out of the carriage and finally herself. In total, she’s known the Teyrn a year, while not surprising for a noble, Celia is used to weddings between people who have known each other for the entirety of their lives.

She knows there’s music, is aware of the chatter filtering through the nobles as she walks into the Chantry, but she hears nothing. The world is silent, save the beat of her heart, because Andraste’s ass she’s getting married.

Loghain’s got a smile on his face that she cannot begin to decipher in her current state of near panic. He takes her shaking hand to present her to the Revered Mother, his fingers tracing a line across her skin before halting to give her hand a firm squeeze.

The Revered Mother gives a traditional wedding sermon, speaks highly of the Teyrn and his great accomplishments. Bestows blessings on them both, that their marriage be fruitful, and the Maker guide their actions, until they return to his side. Every word building up the tightness in her chest, the practically crippling anxiety she cannot quell no matter how much she tries.

Then he says his vows, not to her, not their audience, to the Maker himself, like this vow is worthy of their Maker’s attention. Celia’s heart leaps at the notion, that he could take all of this so seriously, that he loves her that much. Maybe love isn’t the right word, perhaps it’s respect, that he holds her and their marriage in the same regard as their Maker.

The tightness in her chest fades into loose fluttering, the way a childlike infatuation dances in one’s chest, it’s with this feeling their hands clasped tight, that she speaks her own solemn vow.

Then before she knows it, two sisters are handing the couple glass plates. When she’d told Loghain about the tradition he’d balked at her, said it was a ridiculous notion to break anything on their wedding day, despite the local tradition. Even now he looks at her wearily, her smile playfully stretched across her face as the Revered Mother explains the sentiment to their non-native visitors.

“As the glass shatters, it will never be the same, broken into hundreds of pieces. May your marriage and your happiness last as many years as there are shards of glass.”

Celia throws her plate first a laugh falling out of her lips, Loghain soon follows suit, the crashing seems to echo as the Revered Mother proclaims them married, “Salute your bride.”

He kisses her harshly, with a pressure that sends her back into his waiting hand. The throng of guests laugh above their applause, she’s the one to break apart. Blushing at the thought of her parents witnessing such an act of intimacy, Loghain kisses her forehead before they turn to face the crowd.

Loghain leads the way out of the Chantry back into the carriage, they host a parade of sorts, having the Teyrn show off his new bride. Celia’s tingling feelings of tenderness don’t fade, as they ride around the city, their hands remain intertwined him raising their hands to his lips every now and then.

Immediately following the parade, the reception begins, all manner of nobles arriving to present the new couple with congratulations and good tidings. Maric hugs the two of them, teasing Celia just a bit.

“I haven’t a clue how you could think we’re sweethearts. Ha! For what it’s worth, I’m terribly happy you came to your senses.” He laughs.

“I’m afraid I’ve actually lost my mind more, Your Majesty.” She chuckles.

“Ah because marrying a dolt like me is such a terribly thing, my wife?” Loghain draws her closer to his side.

“That remains to be seen, husband.” Hearing him call her wife sent such a strange chill down her spine she could only think to retaliate likewise.

Queen Rowan tugs at her husband, having stayed silent for the duration of their visit. “Congratulations. To the both of you.” She dips her head and leads King Maric away.

Once every noble has blessed the couple, feasting and general merrymaking ensue. There’s dancing, feasting and drinking, Celia almost doesn’t notice that she’s surrounded by nobles, doesn’t recognize that she should feel terrified. For the first time, Loghain is just a man, a man giddy with drink and the joy of being wed to his new bride.

It’s all over much quicker than she anticipates, the ladies of the court separating her from her husband. Lady Eleanor chuckling as she says, “I know you’ve scarcely been apart this evening, but you’ve other activities to attend to.”

Celia laughs nervously at the thought as she is led to her mother and sister in law. She leads them, more or less down to the Teyrna’s chambers, a simple set of rooms, when Celia had commissioned them she’d never dreamed she’d be the one inhabiting them. A small number of maids begin helping her undress, taking down her hair and washing her face.

Katherine smiles brightly at her, presenting the thin sheath she’s expected to dawn in Loghain’s presence. Celia’s nerves return as she’s dressed up, or down rather. The fabric is soft and so thin she’s practically shivering as the night air touches her skin. Arms and back plainly exposed in a way she’s never envisioned for herself.

Her mother grasps her daughter’s hands and kisses them lightly. Katherine wraps her arms around Celia’s shoulders and whispers a good luck, before the two women of her family lead her out into the hall. She’s never felt so indisposed, as she does approaching Loghain’s bedroom door, her husband’s chambers. Where she’s about to… Andraste preserve her.

Her mother and Katherine take their leave, as Celia decides she’s not about to spend a second alone practically naked in the hallway. With her luck Maric would show up and start hassling her.

Loghain looks surprised at her sudden entrance but says nothing as his jaw steadily drops. Gazing at Celia with such a profound type of interest she feels practically faint. His appearance shocks her too, his bare chest and loose trousers, such a state of undress Celia has never encountered.

“Maker’s Breath Celia, you’re gorgeous.” He says when he’s put his composure back together.

She smiles at him slightly approaching him despite herself. “Are you speechless husband?”

“You are a disarming sight, my dear wife.” His hand weaves into her hair and grasps the back of her neck. “Tell me, am I the first to see you as such? Are you untouched, wife?”

His words are hot on her lips, she can practically taste the sweet wine on his breath, and Maker she wants to. “You are the first to see me as I am, are you surprised?”

“It is only a pity that such beauty be for one man, but I will gladly reap the benefit.” He does not divulge if this is his first encounter of the like, Celia notes. Not that she cares any, it’s common to bed before marriage, to have multiple partners even, and she’s actually quite relieved. At least one of them will know what they’re doing.

He kisses her just as he did on the alter, harshly and with a passion she has been unfamiliar with until now. She doesn’t stumble this time, she places her hands on his chest instead, fingertips grazing the skin beneath. She’s never been so close to any other person, never had the desire in her gut for touch, but right now it’s all she wants. He is all she wants.

He grasps at her rear then drags his hands to her hips, roughly breaks their kiss and has a moment of laughter. “Lay down on the bed for me.”

Breath stuck in her chest, she does as she’s bid feeling his presence linger as she goes, he’s not even a step behind. When she turns to take a seat on the bed he’s right there, smirking and observing her every movement.

“What is it?” She asks, inching back onto the bed, him not far behind, akin to a wolf stalking his prey.

“You are a wonder to behold, and I will not waste a moment that you are in my presence.” He says, the words dissipating on her skin the moment she’s laid before him, he ravishes her with kisses. Parts of her body she does not so much as bear a passing glance, are met with his lips and she is quivering. Quaking beneath his hands and hot breath, hands on her thighs rucking up the fabric of her sheath.

So much heat and closeness like she has never experienced, never craved before. He smiles at her a devilish kind of smirk that makes her want to die, to stop breathing so that the flush of her cheeks will cease. Whatever game they’ve been playing all along, he’s winning, and she’s never loved and hated him more. Kissing her stomach as his hands dance across her thin small clothes, she wants to kill him; the tease.

“Already so enticed, Celia?” He chuckles.

Breathlessly she manages a laugh, “You are such an ass.”

“Your smallclothes say otherwise, dripping for me, and we’ve barely begun.” He’s back at her lips, warm and starting to swell from use, or overuse perhaps. “Turn for me.”

The cage of his arms lifts so she can roll onto her stomach, his hands gathering her hair, the moment he stalls she knows he’s seen it. The hesitation passes quickly, soon his hands run along the rutted skin of her back, the scars she’s been ignoring for so long.

“What in Andraste’s name, Celia?” He asks, concern and worry evident in his tone.

Closing her eyes tightly before pushing herself up; tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she smiles nervously. “Orlesian bastards.”

He’s at a loss when he realizes, his features drawn together scared and full of sorrow. “What… What did…”

“You’re not the only noble I was stupid enough to bad mouth.”

“Why?”

“He wanted to marry me.” She says hand rising to her now husband’s cheek, “Well, probably just to fuck me to be honest.”

“And you…”

“Spat at him.” She chuckles, the crack of the whip still loud in her ear. “Called him godless and all manner of vile things. Turns out Orlesian nobles don’t take kindly to insults… I’m only lucky he didn’t keep me after that.”

She’s in his arms before a thought can pass through her mind. Loghain kisses the side of her head, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not, he was a right bastard and deserved every syllable, you’d have enjoyed it I’m sure.” She says, tears stuck in her eyes. His hand practically encompasses her head, she takes the opportunity to nestle into the crook of his neck, breathing in his musk and soap. She feels so safe in the arms of the man she has wed, it’s impossible that she could feel so loved by a man so infuriating. It’s impossible that she’s finally named the feeling she has for him as love.

But she’ll be damned if she doesn’t, because she loves him. She loves him so much she practically hates herself for fighting the feeling for so long.

“I’ll die before I let another damned Orlesian back into this country, Celia. Let alone allow one to even lay eyes on you. You have my word, you’ll never suffer at anyone’s hand ever again.”

“You don’t have to promise me anything, Loghain.” Celia says softly, though her heart lifts at the thought. “You are my husband, you’ve given me the dearest promise I will ever receive, you owe me nothing else.”

She pulls back from him, and places a hand on his chest. He kisses her forehead, “I should find him and kill him.”

“He’s dead now I’m afraid… and you shouldn’t be talking of death, not today.” She’s swallowed her tears as he shakes his head.

Taking her hand, he kisses her knuckle, “What else am I supposed to do then?”

“Make love to me, take what he could not and treat me better than he ever could. Help me atone.” Her voice trembles, she feels positively selfish. Wants him to take her despite what she’s just told him.

“You’ve nothing to atone for, don’t ever think you do.” He says, voice harsh yet tender, “And I will kill every last Orlesian should I get the chance, but that can wait… For now…”

“I- love you.” She says, her lips met with a kiss as the words barely make their way into the air. He’s smiling against her, pressing her back into the mattress. Just as quickly as she’s realized her feelings, she needed to cement them in his ears, needs him to know immediately. This is love, no other name will suffice.

“I love you.” He responds in kind, eyes bright and gentle. No sooner has he spoken, that he is back to ravaging her body, showers of affection between them. Her fingers twisting up in the lengths of his hair, him grinding hips against hers.

His hands are back on her hips, more gentle this time as they hike up her skirt. His hands are everywhere, hips, thighs, stomach, anywhere his skin can be in contact with hers. She’s at his mercy, tremors shooting out of her as he finally discards the bit of clothing separating the two of them.

His fingers dance across her, sending waves of something, pleasure perhaps, through her. There are a hundred questions in her head, but all of them revolve around the man worshiping her.

“Maker, you’re so wet.”

“Is that good?”

“Mm.” He hums softly into her stomach, leaving kisses in his wake, a finger easing into her body. The sensation is strange, uncomfortable in a way. But he takes every opportunity to explore her depths, and is tender in each movement.

Not long after he’s begun his exploration she’s writhing beneath him, something like a mix between a whimper and a moan emits from her lips and he laughs.

“Do you want me, Celia?” His voice is low and needy.

“Yes.” She gasps, eyes scanning his features. He’s enraptured by her; his hands guide the rest of her night dress off of her body leaving a trail of kisses behind until he’s back to her lips. She arches to let the fabric slide off of her effortlessly.

“Tell me you want it.” He says as her hands instinctively poise to remove his trousers.

“I want you.” She breathes eyes locking with his, he is unravelling before her. Soon enough his trousers are gone and they’re both exposed to the other. He’s cupped each of her breasts, her hands on the skin of his waist.

He enters without warning, without flourish, and she cries out at the contact. _Maker_ _have_ _mercy_ , she thinks as her center stretches with his languid movements. The two of them making sounds and love that neither thought possible. He pushes into her and she scratches his back, desperate for closeness.

“You’re mine, now and forever. Mine.” He says it in a constrained voice, tight with his reaching the height of pleasure.

She doesn’t know what possess her, but she responds. “I’m yours, forever. Only yours.”

He releases inside of her gasping for air and mercy, she’s got a smile on her face that threatens to never leave. This man is in the palm of her hand, and she in his.

He rolls off of her, leaving kisses on her jaw and cheek, despite the mess they’ve made, the couple lays out beside the other. All bated breath and whispered promises, Celia truly doesn’t know what to do with herself but stare at the man who calls her wife. The man she’s married and proclaimed her love to, two things she’d never imagined for herself.

Loghain stirs from his tiredness first, walks over to the wash basin left in the room and cleans himself. Just as Celia’s about to join him, he brings a wash cloth to her and cleans her up. This type of caring from the Teyrn would typically startle her, but now all she can think is how much she loves him.

“Are you intending to take me again?” She asks before she can think the question through.

He laughs, tossing the cloth back towards the bucket, “Mercy, woman. Give me at least another twenty minutes.”

“Okay.” She whispers, unsure if she wants to wait, while also unsure if she wants to do that again so quickly.

They don’t have one another again, not for the rest of the night, instead they lie naked under their bed covers holding each other close. He’s still warm as he holds her, his hands running along the impossible lines of her scars.

Celia slips into the fade first, succumbing to the gentle thrum of his heart beat and the quite promise that will never leave her.


	2. Act Two

**Act 2: The part of the story where things don't seem right.**

Married life is distinctly different than Celia was expecting, not so much so in the way of duties, she still runs much of what she had initially. But she spends her nights abed with her husband, is called my lady by the servants instead of by her name. Never a lack of sharp words or crude comments, only now arguments end with hurried passions.

Soon the time comes for her presentation to the Landsmeet, a feat Celia is not ready for and decides she'll never be ready for. They leave at the beginning of Kingsway, and the journey takes some two and a half weeks. During which time, Loghain and her spend the majority of in silence, he's going through missives and reports for the Landsmeet. While she simply has nothing to say, the slight terror of meeting the Ferelden court petrifies her.

Denerim just barely escapes her notices, she's so caught up in her own mind, the sounds of city rumblings jar her from her thoughts. What everyone says about the city is true, she is a glittering gem, bursting at the seams with people and culture.

"I've business to attend to with Maric, I'll leave you to get acquainted with the estate and prepare for dinner." Loghain says with not an ounce of interest in the sight of the city. Celia isn't surprised by this, he's come to Denerim before.

"Of course." She responds.

"You're expected at the palace before nightfall, take the smaller carriage."

"I'm sorry?" She asks.

"For dinner, with Maric and Rowan."

She narrows her gaze at him, "Must you  _always_ leave me uninformed until the absolute last moment possible?"

He smirks at her, the first bit of interaction between the two all day. "Think of it as I'm testing you, seeing if you'll keep on your toes."

Shaking her head, Celia watches the estate come into view, it's smaller than Castle Gwaren, but that's to be expected in a city such as this. The servants have lined up in front of the entrance and she remembers that she's supposed to be Loghain's wife, a Teyrna. In a way she hasn't had the responsibility yet, she's acted the part of a seneschal back home. Here she has a title, status, and for the first time she realizes how undeserving of both of those things she is.

Loghain steps out first, offers his hand to her as if this is natural, and she follows him with ease.

"Teyrn Loghain, welcome back to Denerim, my lord." An older man smiles, bowing to her husband.

"Master Gavrial, this is my wife, Celia." He presents her, and for a moment she panics. Is she meant to bow to the head steward of the home?

"An honor, my lady." He says with another deep bow, Celia nods in kind, unsure of what else to do.

"I trust you'll show her around the estate, and introduce her to the staff." He says it as if the words are fact, no room for question or doubt. Celia is unsurprised.

"Of course, my lord, preparations have been made just as you've instructed." Celia raises a brow to her husband, uncertain of when he made time to send instructions ahead of them.

"Thank you." He turns to Celia and kisses her with an ounce of roughness, enough to leave her shocked where she stands. "I'll see you tonight." He says before turning and walking away.

She chuckles nervously, being left alone with the servants… such a strange term when used in relation to herself. She looks to Master Gavrial, "He's… quite the character."

"Indeed." He smiles, "Allow me to introduce you to the staff."

"Ah… yes." She returns the smile as he begins rattling off a list of names, each accompanied with a person in the lineup bowing or curtsying. All of this flourish for just Celia feels a bit excessive, alright a lot excessive, yet she keeps her thoughts internal until introductions conclude.

Then she's taken on a tour of the full estate, every corner and crack in the wall (that they haven't quite gotten around to fixing but rest assured they will). Maker's breath it's all too much for her to handle if she's honest. She has her own set of rooms in the estate, just like back home, the ones she never uses.

Despite how overwhelming all of this is she still manages to take it all in, or at the very least as much as she can handle. In her head she runs through all the halls and rooms, trying to keep them all straight, even as Master Gavrial still talks. And the man can talk, as if linens and structure of the estate is the only topic worth knowing anything about. Celia likes him, she thinks, likes the idea of being able to remain of one mind at the very least.

A bath is waiting for her when she's done with the tour, and a few of the serving girls change her for dinner. Despite wanting nothing more than to lie down a sleep off the trip, she's dressed in something far too delicate and fine for just a dinner. A part of her wants to demand to be allowed to dress herself, but the other part keeps her silent. This a world Celia knows nothing about, she needs to follow, at least for a time until she can wrap her head around her new station.

Dinner with the king and queen, an affair she'd never imagined herself partaking in, is quick and relatively painless. Though during the night Celia comes to feel as though she is truly an outsider among them. Her husband, the king, and the queen get on like the closest of friends. The fact that she feels as though she's intruding on their fun does not leave her once she recognizes it.

The very next day an invitation arrives at the estate, requesting Celia's attendance to a luncheon with the other high ladies of the court. Loghain does not give her an option to refuse, making plans for himself the moment she informs him of the notion.

"You'd so easily throw me to the dogs?" Celia can't help but ask him.

He lets out a barking laugh at her words, "Maker's Breath, woman, they're all bark and no bite. It won't be so bad."

"You don't know that." She huffs folding her arms across her chest.

He shakes his head, gathering his coat in his arms, he'll be spending the afternoon with King Maric and Teyrn Cousland. "You'll do just fine, flash them that pretty smile and keep your mouth shut."

"No need to be so cruel." She says as he kisses her, albeit briefly.

"And you needn't be so quick to jump to conclusions." He reminds her. "Play nice with the ladies, will you?"

"I promise nothing." She says as he passes by her.

"I look forward to hearing this tale from all sides, my lady." He says nothing else as he walks out of the estate; although there's already a carriage waiting out front for her, once she's swallowed her pride and decided to go.

Climbing into a carriage alone feels strange and out of place, despite having done it once the day previous. Even stranger still when she notices people on the streets trying to see in to the carriage, to catch a glimpse of the woman who married Teyrn within the first year of his title.

She'd been told by her husband that the wedding was a very hot topic of gossip among the nobility, practically none had remembered her from their introduction at Loghain's ball. Many assume she's a long-lost love of the Teyrn, that perhaps they met on the field of battle and he vowed to return to her as soon as he could. Some thought perhaps she must be the most beautiful woman in Thedas and thus bewitched him the moment their eyes met, or in fact that she's an apostate and is trying to overthrow Ferelden's new rule. Celia is both amused and a bit upset to ruin their fun, the truth is rather dull in comparison to the lavish tales gossip breeds.

The Arlessa of Denerim is holding the affair, and Celia can already tell by the cluster of fine carriages nearly every lady in Denerim is in attendance. In her mind, Celia runs through as many social graces as she can before entering the estate. The servants usher her to the large sun room, all decorated with finery and the like, food sprawled out on every open surface. Some of the windows have been left open, fall air tumbling in and rustling the center pieces.

Not a single lady acknowledges her presence at first, which Celia happens to prefer. It allows her the opportunity to observe the ladies' dresses, the way they wear their hair, how each of them has their nose firmly placed in the air.

"Celia, dear! When did you arrive?" It's Eleanor Cousland with a baby in one arm and the other wrapping around Celia's shoulders.

"I haven't been here long, I assure you, my-…" It might not be proper to call Eleanor, my lady anymore. What in the void is she to call her?

"None of that." Eleanor chuckles, "You'll call me by my name, yes?"

"Yes, of course." Celia feels the heat of embarrassment settle in. "Who's this?" She asks directing the question to the child in Eleanor's arms. The babe has taken to suckling on his fist as he stares with wide eyes at everything around him.

"This is my son, Fergus." The Teyrna smiles brightly at the boy, "Bryce insisted I leave him at the estate, but I do hate being away from him. Aside from that he's a very well-behaved boy."

Celia tickles the boy's stomach eliciting a gurgling laugh from him, "He's darling."

"I also love an excuse to leave these events early." Eleanor whispers to Celia in confidence, Celia snorts at the confession. "Come, you should be meeting our hostess."

Truth be told she has 'met' all of the ladies of the court, at least most of them, at her wedding. However, her mind was elsewhere at the time and it has been six months since then. Aside from those things, this is a formal introduction, done as a courtesy to all the nobility.

Eleanor takes her to a particularly large group of women all chattering and giggling; their attention quickly diverts to the approaching pair. "Ladies, it's my honor to formally introduce you to the lady Mac Tir." Celia hears the name and feels taken aback, she has scarcely been called by her new name.

"So, this is the woman who's captured the Teyrn's heart." One of the particularly vocal women says. "It is an honor to meet you, your ladyship, I am Ginevra Kendells Arlessa of Denerim."

"A pleasure." Celia says as the group of ladies briefly curtsy to her.

"I hope your stay in Denerim has treated you well thus far, it must be quite different from Gwaren."

"Very much so, but the city is quite nice thank you."

"Torin, bring us some wine, would you." Ginevra snaps for a servant. "Please sit, your ladyship, we've all been dying to hear how you romanced our dear Loghain."

Celia smiles through her breathy laughter, taking a seat on one of the many plush couches. "I'm afraid it's not such a grand tale."

"Of course, you might think so, but the rest of us have been very intrigued by it all, and by you."

Suddenly Celia feels surrounded, like the mingling crowd has stopped the moment Ginevra snapped her fingers. But Celia keeps her chin up and her smile easy, "What do you want to know?"

"How you met, that's a good enough place to start."

Celia laughs, trying to pass her nerves off as fond remembrance, "He'd been at Castle Gwaren for a month without having done anything at all, so I yelled at him."

"Did you really?" One of the ladies, Celia vaguely remembers as a Bann's wife laughs.

"The man was living in a pitched tent inside a rotting castle, of course I did."

"Men." Eleanor chuckles bouncing Fergus a bit more.

Celia is presented a glass of wine, which she takes despite her hesitation; drinking during the day seems odd for fine ladies, but denying hospitality might be even worse. Especially because it seems the other ladies have already been drinking.

"So, it's true then, you're a commoner." Another lady Celia doesn't recognize asks.

"I am."

"Loghain was born common too, if you'll recall." Eleanor says, an edge infiltrating her tone.

"Eleanor, she didn't mean it like that, I think it's rather romantic." Ginevra snickers from behind her wine glass. "You were probably the first sight he'd seen since arriving."

"I told you it's not such a grand tale." Celia responds.

"Oh, but it is, the new Teyrn comes to Gwaren and finds love in the first woman he meets. You do love him, don't you?"

"Of course, I love him." Celia narrows her gaze at the Arlessa, "What are you implying?"

"My apologies, I wasn't implying anything. It just seems strange that Loghain, a very impartial sardonic man announces his betrothal after two months of knowing her. A bit out of character no?"

"Perhaps you don't know him as well as you think." Celia allows the words to fly before her thoughts can censor her. At the realization of what she's said she takes another drink, hoping to hide behind something. But there is no hiding in a lady's salon, and Ginevra laughs with a hint of cruelty.

"Perhaps I don't, enlighten me then about your dashing husband."

"He's a good man, not traditionally kind or sweet… but he cares greatly for me."

"I see, and what of you, Celia?" The usage of her name feels like a jab, but she does not give in.

"What about me?"

"Why do you think he fell in love with you?"

Celia wants to answer and doesn't, she wants to name the traits that drew Loghain to her but does not know them herself. She wants to meet Ginevra with biting remarks and callous answers, all the while knowing she can't.

Celia finally responds with, "I haven't a clue."

"Come now, you're being far too humble, at the very least he must have thought you were beautiful." Being called beautiful has never felt like such an insult. "Maybe it's because you are vastly different from the Queen, that would make sense really."

"Bite your tongue Ginevra you'll remember whom you are speaking to." Ginevra sips her wine innocently as Eleanor reprimands her. Yet Celia feels her brows draw together, her mind rushes through the obvious before Ginevra chuckles.

"I thought everyone knew that Loghain fancies the queen, who wouldn't? She's beautiful and talented, the perfect queen really."

"They were lovers during the war, that's what I've heard at least." Another lady says with a giggle.

"Are you accusing not only my husband but your queen as well of infidelity?" Celia asks, voice tense, anger rising in her gut quickly.

"Maker's Breath no, of course not." Ginevra places a hand on her chest as if she's surprised by the notion and not the cause. "It just makes sense doesn't it?"

"To you perhaps." Celia says griping the stem of her empty glass trying to keep calm.

"That you're the exact opposite of our queen, it's obvious why he chose you."

"That's enough!" Eleanor stands up, "You best learn to respect your superiors, Ginevra, all that talk will come back to bite you. I swear it."

"Eleanor, you're taking things to the extreme, Celia and I are having a friendly conversation."

"She did not give you permission to call her by her name. You will address her by her station until granted permission otherwise."

Celia wants to contribute, to defend not only herself, but her husband as well. However, she can't manage a thought that isn't keeping her anger at bay. She wants to knock this Arlessa's teeth in, wants to rip her to shreds for even insinuating that her husband could be adulterous.

Growing up with brothers, Celia is familiar with fist fighting, even when her mother insisted she be a lady. Every inch of her wants to punch Ginevra's smirk off her face, but she has to refrain for her sake and that of her husband.

"I doubt the Teyrn would swallow your words half as well as she. Remember that." Eleanor turns to Celia, who is still holding back her fuming rage. Celia feels as though she should say something, a hot retort that burns as soon as the words leave her body. But she knows she can't, so she bites her lips and swallows every harsh word.

Fergus has started to make a fuss in the silence, to which Eleanor immediately walks away. Celia finally manages to speak, "It seems we must be leaving."

"I completely understand." Ginevra says, "Allow me to see you out." But she makes no move to do so.

"No need, thank you." Celia dips her head and follows after Eleanor. The Teyrna in question is not far down the hall, she doesn't have much catching up to do.

"Eleanor, I-… I'm sorry." Celia says once she reaches the other woman.

"No, don't apologize, that woman wouldn't know subtlety or humility if they stood right in front of her and clubbed her to death. Which she would deserve mind you." Eleanor sighs taking Celia's hand, "She was far out of line, I should have never let it escalate to that."

"You did just fine… At the very least I didn't start a brawl…" Celia chuckles nervously.

"Thank the Maker for that." Eleanor chuckles.

"Was… Was there any merit to what she said? Be honest with me."

Eleanor sighs and Celia knows, at least some of what was said is true. "Come to the Highever estate, we can talk there."

Celia nods once and the two are headed towards their respective carriages, left alone with her thoughts she begins to over analyze. Perhaps Loghain did choose her for being so vastly different from Rowan, beautiful, dark, soft spoken, noble Rowan. Why else would he have picked a woman such as herself? Was she really so stupid as to believe the man was in love with her? Just like that? It all happened so fast, the wedding, the courtship, was it all to hide his feelings for the queen? Is she merely a scapegoat?

The Highever estate is just as fine as Gwaren's, though the colors are blues and golds, as opposed to Gwaren's greys and reds. Eleanor is waiting in the front hall for Celia before bringing her to a small parlor, she assumes this is Eleanor's personal parlor. Celia has one just like it.

"You don't mind if I feed him, do you?" Eleanor asks.

"Of course not." Celia says softly. The serving girls have already begun setting up tea as Eleanor feeds the babe.

"Ginevra is a sniveling wretch, always has been, it befits her considering her husband." Eleanor shakes her head.

"I assume that means Arl Kendells is not a gentle man." Celia quirks her lips just a touch, the wine from earlier is beginning to get to her head.

"Oh no, quite the opposite in fact, perhaps he needed a little bite to his rule, it's quite an unfortunate affair that she was the result of that." In the silence Celia wonders how to ask Eleanor about Loghain and the queen, but Eleanor is quick to pick up on what is unspoken. "She was mostly trying to get under your skin, Celia, really she enjoys getting a rise out of people. But you should be aware that Loghain and Rowan did have… previous relations."

"Serious relations?" Celia feels dreadfully juvenile, like a teenaged girl trying to find out everything about the boy she fancies this week.

"It's only a rumor that they… bedded one another, and if you want my personal opinion I doubt they did. Rowan has always loved Maric, ever since they were children, and Loghain is Maric's dearest friend he would not betray him like that. Even if he was the type of man to do such a thing, his sense of duty is far too strong to allow for such a breach of character."

"But he does love her… So, the rumors say?"

"You've nothing to worry about, he does love you."

"This isn't about me I'm afraid." Celia's voice is hushed and the worry she's been casting aside floods her senses.

"Listen to me, Loghain is nothing if not a smart man, he would never bed a married woman let alone the woman married to his best friend. You've absolutely nothing to fear."

"But she could be right, couldn't she? I'm the exact opposite of Rowan-"

"I won't hear of that, you're more alike than you think."

"Somehow that doesn't make me feel better."

"Celia, you mustn't think like that." Celia shakes her head as Eleanor continues, "Do you want to know what I think?"

"Haven't you been telling me what you think?" Celia manages a chuckle.

"I think he chose you because you remind him of a lot of things, not just Rowan. You remind him of what he lost to the war, what he was fighting for, and all that he gained from it." Eleanor adjusts Fergus as she continues, "You are passionate and bold, yet you have as humble beginnings as he does. You survived the war and kept your wits about you, I think he admires you greatly."

Celia closes her eyes, "I want to say I didn't sign up for this, but I suppose I did."

"Yes, but you're handling it all gracefully if I may say so."

"Ha, yes my very first ladies function and I left early due to my husband being accused of infidelity… I didn't even stay for two hours." Celia covers her face embarrassed.

Eleanor tilts her head back with a cackle, "Perhaps you need more to drink."

"Ugh." Celia shakes her head, a small smile forming on her lips. Sure enough a servant soon appears with an open bottle of wine and two full glasses.

"If it makes you feel any better, my first ladies luncheon was spent attempting to explain why exactly I deserved to be married to a Teyrn when I was a pirate."

Celia and Eleanor share a bemused smile, Celia taking the wine glass and sipping tentatively. "And how exactly did that go over?"

"Oh perfectly, I scared the ever-living piss out of them, and all has been well since."

Celia laughs, "I wish I had such a tale to tell, perhaps then I wouldn't feel like such rubbish."

"They don't deserve your time. Well, that's not fair to some of them, a few of the banns are quite lovely, they tend to get lost among the general chaos, however."

"Ah…" Celia finishes her wine and Eleanor's who explains that she shouldn't be drinking spirits while she's still feeding Fergus.

Celia already a lightweight, is thoroughly tipsy by the time she leaves the estate, her heart still aching from the day's revelations. The ride back to her own estate allots her time to recall the bitterness of the afternoon, and allow it to simmer.

Master Gavrial informs her that her husband is in his office and she practically storms up to the room. She throws the door open and stares at her husband, wonders if he loves her or if she is just a distraction from Rowan.

"Good evening Celia, how was your lunch?" He asks without even a glance in her direction.

"Shit." She says closing the door behind her and approaching his desk.

"You're surprisingly cheery for such words." Loghain looks up at her usage of a curse, amusement melts across his features.

"Eleanor had me drink." Celia says smiling at her husband.

He sighs, "Do I want to know why?"

"Perhaps." She halfway says the word before kissing him, breath harsh against his lips.

He laughs, hand reaching up to her cheek pulling her away. "I don't think I've ever seen you drunk, and in the middle of the day no less."

She leans into his hand humming as she does so, content with the contact, "I don't usually drink, but I was apparently unbearable."

"Now I think I really don't want to know what happened." Loghain shakes his head, running his thumb along her cheek.

"Will you take me to bed husband?" She asks, eyes scanning his features, for what she isn't sure.

"It's a bit early to sleep, Celia." He laughs, she must look so ridiculous he can't remain serious.

"No, I mean take me as in lie with me. Please?" She chuckles as she asks, her hands reaching up to his shirt, finally lifting her head from his hand.

"You're serious." He shakes his head, "Maker you are gone."

"I am not." She pouts at him receiving another laugh as she does so. She leans forward and kisses his jaw, though she was hoping to kiss his cheek.

"You are, and you're quite adorable drunk." His hands have traveled to her back, she doesn't register this as him trying to ensure she doesn't fall over, but she manages the thought when she suddenly stops swaying.

"I'm furious, tipsy, and in need of proper distraction, now take me to our chambers and have me." She demands, as much as she's able in her state. In an attempt to stand upright and march him to their room he pulls on her wrist, sending her tumbling into his lap.

"You might not make it to our chambers at this rate, my dear wife." He laughs, grasping her face so that he can kiss her properly.

"Will you take me here then?" She asks, a light in her eye.

"You really want me to?"

"Don't make me beg, I've already said please." She snorts placing her head in the crook of his neck, his breath is warm on the top of her head.

"That you have." He agrees with a laugh, glancing down to see her eyes closed. She's already halfway to the fade, and she's never been more comfortable. He kisses the top of her head, "Are you sure you don't want to go to bed to sleep, dear?"

"Mhm." She puts her face right against his neck leaving a kiss on the skin beneath, and falls asleep waiting for him to say something.

She wakes up in their bed the next morning, alone and still exhausted, damn her inability to hold her liquor. Upon waking up a bit more, she realizes that it is not so late as she thought, just that her husband is an early riser, especially with the Landsmeet tomorrow. Dressing quickly, she heads immediately back to her husband's office, and sure enough she finds him in practically the same spot.

"You're up early." She says, watching him jump out of his own skin as she does so.

"Maker's Breath, do you ever knock?" He sighs when he realizes it's merely her.

"I've been known to knock on occasion." She closes the door behind her but stays in the doorway, "Should I apologize for yesterday?"

"I'm surprised you remember yesterday at all. How much did you drink?" A bemused smile stretches across his face.

"Believe it or not I only had three glasses of wine, thank you very much." She says defensively folding her arms over her chest.

He shakes his head, "I've never seen you like that, Celia, it was enlightening and terrifying in a way."

"I avoid spirits for a reason." She says nervously fidgeting where she stands. "You were gone when I woke up."

"Truth be told I didn't know what you'd be like upon waking."

"I'm so glad I can rely on my husband to be with me through thick and thin."

"Don't be like that Celia."

As a silence slips between the two of them, Celia approaches her husband a small smile forming on her face. "I believe you still owe me. After all, I did ask nicely."

"I was not about to take advantage of you in the state you were in." Loghain shakes his head.

"Yes, how very chivalrous of you, who knows I might have fallen asleep during the act. But why not take me now?" She asks, feeling positively foolish, practically begging him to have her.

He stands up from his desk and leans in close to her, "Who said I wouldn't take you now."

Celia watches him walk around the desk and her heartbeat quickens with his pace, "Perhaps you shouldn't imply disinterest then."

Just as she's about the lead the way back to their chambers, he grasps her arm and pulls her back into his grasp. The shock of which leaves her breathless in his arms, his hands already pushing the fabric of her dress off her shoulder, so he can suck the tender skin beneath.

"I believe you had a very specific request yesterday. Or at the very least, you ached for me so deeply you couldn't wait to be abed." He's whispers the words into her ear, his nose pressed against her temple. One hand drawing a line down her arm until their hands are clasped, the other wrapped around her waist.

"And here I thought you of all people would be aghast at the idea of satisfaction outside the bedroom." Managing a chuckle through the sudden heat of the moment, Celia turns to face her husband.

Loghain is quick and decisive with his movements, in seconds she laid on the desk, arms well above her head as he grips her wrists. His lips are harsh on hers, the crumpling of parchment beneath her body is the only sound outside of their heavy breathing. There's not an inch of space between their two bodies, each of them craving skin and contact as fervently as the young lovers they are.

"You were desperate for me last night, are you as desperate for me now?" A hot flush fills her cheeks and she can only nod to him. "Tell me."

He's barely a breath away, just above her with dark eyes and a tantalizing smile that sends waves of anticipation through her. Swallowing thickly, she manages to speak, "I'm desperate for you… I need… I need you."

He releases his harsh grip on her wrists, lifts her just enough off the desk to flip her over on her stomach. Wanders his touch down the length of her spine before hoisting her skirts up, leaving kisses behind her ears and the back of her neck. Her breath is heavy, drenched in soft moans when his fingers graze her thighs.

Gripping the desk as he removes her smallclothes, she breathes out his name and listens to the way he laughs. It's a heavy sound, possessive in way, perhaps in the wrong context even cruel. He enjoys seeing her this way, bent over for him, only able to process his name. It's moments like these that remind her just how much he owns of her, how much she has given him.

When he asks her to, "Tell me you're mine." while he's two fingers deep inside of her, she isn't surprised. He always asks her this, always wants to hear her say those coveted words.

"I'm yours." She responds breathlessly, listening to the way he shudders before retracting his hand and entering her shortly after. There's a part of her that wants him to declare her ownership of him, but knows that isn't the case. Celia is his, through and through, the same cannot be said the other way around.

He lays on top of her, the pressure and weight of him keeps her engaged in the moment, yearning to touch him. The way he moves inside of her evokes soft sounds of pleasure, and he loves when she's vocal during intimacy.

They're soon nothing but puddles of satisfaction, him still on top of her leaving little kisses on the side of her head. "I did want you last night." He admits, "I hope you'll always want me as desperately as you do now."

She chuckles softly, "I reserve the right to cast you off should I feel the need."

"As long as you'll always welcome me home, I'll settle for that." He laces their fingers together and kisses the back of her hand, lifting his weight off of her just a bit.

"I will, always and forever."

"I love you, Celia." These last words are spoken into the back of her neck, his face poised just above.

That's when the blaringly loud knock at the door startles them both. "Can we come in yet or are you two still having a moment?" The snide comment sounds pleased and amused, as Celia and Loghain startle.

"Andraste's tits, Maric, what the fuck is wrong with you!?" Loghain practically springs off of Celia and begins to re dress himself.

"Watch your tongue in front of our Celia she may still leave you yet." Maric laughs behind the door.

Celia tries not to laugh; the absolute embarrassment of the situation threatens to send her into fits of giggling.

"I'm… I'm sorry about the mess, perhaps you should go change." Loghain says helping her stand upright; a feat that's awkward given the twinges between her legs and the fact that his seed still leaks out of her ever so slightly.

"Where did you toss my smallclothes?" She asks, flustered and unsteady on her legs.

"Shit." He looks around the room for a moment before she puts a hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright, we'll find them later." She kisses his cheek before calling for Maric to enter the room.

"Might I suggest installing locks on this door? Perhaps all of them?" Maric has a shit eating grin if Celia's ever seen one, Teyrn Cousland directly behind him covering his mouth with a fist to keep the chuckling at bay.

"Maker's Breath don't tell me you saw-"

"He saw nothing at all, he's the perfect gentleman, right Maric?" Celia smirks at the king who returns the look with a laugh.

Maric stands up a bit straighter, "Of course my lady, your virtue and your dignity are well intact."

Celia shakes her head and turns to Loghain, his face bright red and clearly trying not to lash out at Maric. "I'll leave you to discuss the Landsmeet, dear." Again, she kisses his cheek and walks out of the office curtsying to the two noblemen before her exit. The door is closed just as she passes the threshold, she rolls her eyes and walks down the corridor, back to her chambers.

After redressing into new smallclothes, she passes her husband's office and hears the very breathless voice of the king.

"Balls deep in you wife, on the desk no less! These papers are important!" She hears laughter within the room and continues on her way.

Celia takes her lunch and dinner alone that night, and finds herself staying up late awaiting her husband.

When he finally enters their chambers, looking tired and spent, he merely says. "You should be asleep." Casting off his clothes in order to change for comfort.

"And you should have come to bed hours ago." She says placing her book on the bedside table.

Loghain says nothing as he flops on the bed, falling instantly asleep. Celia chuckles running her fingers through the tangled locks of his hair; whispering a quick I love you she pulls the covers up to his neck. Snuffing out the candle beside her she settles in next to him.

Loghain is not a graceful sleeper, she notes, the instant he lies down his hair is a jumble of tangles and he sleeps with his mouth open. Celia predicts in their old age he'll snore like a sleeping dragon, he's also graceless in his positions, flopping about in his sleep like a dead fish. The man falls asleep quickly, but once in the fade he's unable to rest.

Usually, Celia takes precaution when sleeping beside him, their first night lying together he'd pushed her out of bed after punching her. Having always shared a bed with her siblings, she doesn't move an inch, and doesn't wake up for just anything. Although being pushed out of bed, while still naked from her first night of sex was a rather apt reason to wake.

This night however, she looks at her husband and recalls Ginevra's cruel words, that Loghain loves the queen and how she can hardly blame him for it. In his sleep she examines the soft lines of his face, the shape of his lips and the dark circles beneath his eyes. Her heart thrums painfully in her chest, like it's trying to break loose of her body, and she can't help but ache for him.

There remains a part of her that recalls their first meeting, and thinks she should still dislike the man. He's rude, standoffish, and cold, he still slings insults at her as if they're continued players of the cruel game from their courtship. Yes, there are days where she thinks she shouldn't love the man she's wed, questions if she should have allowed his impulsive question to offend her.

Perhaps this is the path the Maker meant for her, the thought calms her. Mothers always tell their children that the Maker has a plan, for everyone. She must wait to see what he meant by putting her on this path.

The morning comes, and Celia feels like she hasn't slept a second, she blinked and the sun is streaming in through the curtains. Loghain is half dressed, with an uneaten breakfast before him, reading a missive of some kind. She rises from their bed, draws her dressing gown tight and sits beside him.

"Are you worried, dear?" She asks softly.

"Not worried, Celia, I just like to be prepared that's all." He answers with a sigh.

"Then eat something, the Landsmeet isn't until one." She says grabbing a slice of bread, spreading butter and marmalade over it before holding it out to her husband.

He rolls his eyes, but takes her offering anyway. "I can make my own toast, wife."

"Apparently not, it's getting cold." She comments taking a bit of food for herself. Finally, he puts the missive down and begins to eat, Celia nearly has a heart attack, he never gives in so easily. "Is something the matter?"

"No." He says and that's the end of that conversation.

The two eat their breakfast in silence before heading their separate ways to ready for the Landsmeet. Celia feels the dread settle in, for some reason she hasn't been worried about the Landsmeet until exactly now. The panic comes quickly, she does not want to see those women again, doesn't want to face the scrutiny from before.

Despite the sickening fear, she puts on a façade of complacency and follows her husband to the palace. All at once she is relieved that she's come to the palace before; she is not shocked nor daunted by the enormity and grandeur it exudes.

Once inside, Celia spots a few familiar faces mingling with some unfamiliar ones, she is shocked by the waves of fear still rolling around inside of her. Loghain leads her around the parlor, introducing her to the noblemen and discussing a few of the issues to be addressed in a little under an hour, then promptly leaving. Loghain is a very brief man, leaves no room for argument or continuation, once he's left a conversation it will stay as such.

The Landsmeet itself is far more tolerable than she had anticipated, she is expected to do nothing more than sit in her seat and watch the happenings. The Banns and the Arls stand in the balconies above, she and her husband sit across the room from the Couslands, Maric and Rowan sit in their thrones presiding over the court with a dignity worthy of storybooks.

Loghain is very vocal during the hearings, nearly every issue he gives a well thought out, well spoken opinion. Teyrn Cousland speaks in half the time that her husband does, but when Bryce speaks he has a more compelling genuine tone. Celia's husband is an abrupt man and it seeps into his arguments.

"You're being an ass." She whispers to him as the next agenda is read out.

" _I_ am giving honest criticism." He nearly snarls at her, perhaps all of this political talk is getting to him.

"No one will ever listen to you with a tone like that, be nice and behave." She suggests.

"I am behaving, you're the one who is speaking out of turn."

"And you wonder why I think you're being an ass." She rolls her eyes and turns back to the proceedings. Most of the talk is about trade, renewing contracts, and political territories, trivial things Celia can't follow, nor does she care to.

Then the final announcement is made, Ferelden is hosting a ball to thank their allies during the restoration. Free Marchers, Antivians, and Nevarrans, apparently a small number of unimportant Orlesian nobles will also be in attendance. Celia's heart drops at the very mention of Orlais, but understands immediately the politics at play.

Not inviting the world's largest super power to what is essentially a peace ball, would be inviting trouble in her wake. As much as their other guests will probably loath to have Orlesians in their presence, no one is stupid enough to believe they can survive without the gilded empire.

Maric sounds utterly defeated at the notion of allowing even the lowest of Orlesians to cross their borders; looks tired and angry at the thought of them being allowed in their country ever again. As resigned as he is, Celia sees the same begrudging acceptance that raced through her own mind. Loghain on the other hand looks downright furious at the announcement, gripping the armrest until his knuckles are white, face pinched and crimson.

Celia places a gentle hand on his, and watches as his tense gaze falls to her, she shakes her head at him. His eyes fall instantly back down, if he could look any more livid she's certain he'd become a demon before her very eyes. The pin pricks of tears burn in her eyes, as the announcement concludes, when the war ended Celia thought she'd never have to see another damned Orlesian again. She supposes this is the sacrifice she'll make for her country's wellbeing; nearly three years have passed since the occupation it's time that Ferelden return to her rightful place as a player in the political game of Thedas.

The Landsmeet ends with what Celia can only imagine as typical courtesy's and gestures, as soon as it's all concluded, Loghain practically snatches her hand and storms them out of the grand hall. Not out of the palace, to her surprise, instead up to the empty guest wing, he yanks her into a random room and shuts the door.

Celia doesn't even have a second to take in the room before he's on her, kissing her and clawing at the dress separating the two of them.

She yelps from behind his lips, tries to ask a, "What are you doing?" but can't form the words with him on her so.

"Please Celia, just don't say anything." He says quickly smashing his lips back onto hers.

"Loghain." She manages to say turning her head so he's now assaulting her jaw, "I know you're upset-"

"I said, don't-"

"So, you intend to fuck me because you're angry, and not allow me to have my voice?" She asks harshly.

He groans angrily tilting his head back until it touches the door. "Damn you woman, would you just… ugh."

"Listen to me, I'm just as upset about this as you are, though I'll bet you've had more time than I to let it fester. But there's no reason in being angry, this is out of our hands."

"No, it wasn't, Maric should have just sent our thanks in any other way than this."

"That's not realistic and you know it."

"To the void it's not!" He raises his voice, yet it does not startle her back. "They have taken more from us than they will ever be able to repay! They have taken the lives of our men, orphaned our children, raped our women, and even the damned skin off your back they took! And we're just going to allow them back in like it's nothing!"

"This isn't nothing, this is survival!" She retorts hotly, tears that she'd gracefully held back previously now fall down her cheeks. "None of us want them back here, not Maric, not you, and especially not me, but what choice do we have? This is for Ferelden, not for us, it's for every farmer who can feed their family, and- and- and every bleeding craftsman who can sell their wares abroad! So Ferelden can stay free, for them!"

His hand is on her chin, eyes still burning with rage and something else entirely. "I promised you on our wedding night I'd never let another one of those fat bastards back in our country."

"A promise I never asked for nor expected you to keep." She keeps crying, she wishes she weren't crying. "This isn't about any of us, Loghain darling, this is bigger than us."

He shakes his head, "It's too soon."

"I agree, but we have to make sacrifices." She holds in her sob, tries her very hardest to keep the shuddering at bay.

"I'm tired of making sacrifices… but at the very least they won't have us… they won't have you, Celia." He pulls her in so close she feels like she'll stop breathing in his arms, and a part of her wouldn't mind if she did.

"I'm yours, Loghain, I love you." He sighs at her words kissing the top of her head as he does.

"And I love you." He replies, soft and sweet.

"Orlais may have bled us dry, but she will never have our hearts." Celia says, her father used to say these things to her.

He used to shout from the streets that Orlais was a parasite killing them all, would then come home roughed up by chevaliers on multiple occasions. She prays for her father's strength now, for the strength to stay standing firm in her beliefs even at the expense of herself.

"I won't give her a chance." His voice is back to wicked and sharp, he's told her of his mother, well not exactly. He mentions things sometimes, offhanded comments that start and stop conversations the moment they're spoken. Sometimes his statements are so brief that it leaves her imagination running rampant with despicable deeds committed by those vile people. Celia wonders how active his imagination has gone with her own story of abuse by Orlesians hands.

Her hands wander up the fabric of his dress shirt, looking up to kiss his neck as she does so. "I still want you." He says.

"Okay." She agrees, a bit reluctantly, "But I don't want to be a mess, like the last time we-"

"I'd rather not discuss that, thank you." His kisses are far less aggressive, almost lazy and reckless. Lips falling from hers down to her exposed collarbone. Hands falling down her body like a tired stream, even his breathing sounds exhausted.

She puts a stop to it, quickly, "I've a better idea, actually." Pushing him back against the door as she speaks, she falls down before him.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

She doesn't say a word, tying up her fingers in the laces of his breeches, leaving kisses on the barrier between them. Pushing the fabric down enough to expose him to her, she hears him gasp, seeming to realize what she intends to do.

It takes little teasing to have him pulsing and ready for her, she's never performed the act before only read about it in raunchy novels that she hadn't been seeking out before her wedding night… Judging by his surprise he's never had the act performed either, he's quivering like a teenaged boy about to have his first romp.

She's gentle at first, feather light kisses that could almost be called timid, her hands firmly on his hips. Until she feels him curl his fingers into her hair, looking up at him she notices just how lost he already is.

She cups her hands around him, licks the length of him as she recalls from her… source material. Finds she can't take him fully, but that hardly matters, he's gasping and groaning for her to continue. Moans her name like it's an intimate word, and she can't believe she adores him like this. It feels sick and wrong, but irresistible all at the same time.

He doesn't last nearly as long as she's come to expect, apparently as both have come to expect because he hardly warns her at all of his finality. Not a drop of seed lands on either of their clothing, just as she'd hoped, and he is at her mercy; shaking, sated, and stuttering unfinished words.

She stands upright and kisses his lips, knowing she still tastes of him, but needing a moment of selfishness. "Are you satisfied, husband?"

"Where did you learn to do that?" He asks, a weak hand raising to her cheek.

"I did some research before our wedding through literature… as silly as it sounds." She chuckles, blushing slightly.

"Maker's Breath… You're good to me, Celia." He says leaning his head into the crook of her neck. She says nothing, curling her fingers into his hair and kissing his forehead.

"I love you." She tells him and for a moment isn't sure if he's going to remain awake. He does, and once he's fully recovered she helps him redress, the two depart for home, not a single interaction with the other mingling nobles.

The young couple stays in Denerim for the ball, winter has come as bitterly cold as ever, Celia actually finds it quite mild in Denerim as compared to Gwaren. But she cannot deny how she longs for home, it will be a relief to return, once the frost has gone.

With the winter comes the Peace Ball, and the city is bursting with representatives from all over Thedas. Celia's husband has been helping the king host the event, and she sees the stress of this weigh on him. Loghain isn't particularly social to begin with, to be thrust into politics like this is draining. While trying to be a supportive and gentle wife, she finds that sometimes the best thing to do is leave him be.

She dawns a fine dress commissioned for this very occasion, skirts heavy and full, pure white fabric that reminds her of surrender, and when she greets her husband he merely sighs.

"Don't mind me." He says with a shake of the head. Celia is able to fit the pieces together, he doesn't want to go to this ball, nor does he want any of those Orlesians looking at her like this. Though from what she's heard, Orlais sent the lowest lords they could, insulting bitter men. She hasn't met these men and she dislikes them already.

The ball is lavish in every sense of the word, everyone dressed in their finest, every kind of food imaginable available. It seems that only she and her husband are horrifically uncomfortable with the idea of this ball. Even Maric has put on his bravest face, smiles at her like it hurts but he will not submit, she remembers what he told her. When he told her how people will do ridiculous things for those they care for, Celia hopes her countrymen know all the thing their king will sacrifice for them.

Maric speaks with Loghain in hushed tones, and Celia turns her attention to the other Ferelden's, mostly Arls and of course the Couslands. Eleanor looks invested in a conversation with Rowan, one that Celia is hesitant to join. After all, she and Rowan have barely discussed trivial things. A part of her thinks the queen dislikes her, and perhaps she does. Celia is married to the man who supposedly used to be her lover, supposedly.

"Are you alright dear?"

"Hm?" She asks looking at her husband.

"You look lost in thought."

"And perhaps I was, nothing so important I assure you." She dismisses him with a graceful smile.

He shakes his head turning back to the king, allowing Celia to glance around again, Ginevra is here clinging to a man that must be her husband. A few of the other Arlessa's seem engaged in conversation and from her view, it seems like everyone is ignoring the dragon in the room. That of the foreign dignitaries cannot be ignored for very long, when the dancing begins all bets are off. As of right now, the ambassadors seem to be mingling among each other and themselves, partaking in the feast and drink.

Teyrn Cousland approaches the king and her husband, looking merry and melancholy at the exact same time. "Should we be going?" He asks.

"Damn, already?" Maric looks at the empty dance floor, "Why don't we I suppose."

Maric and Bryce head down towards the thrones and Loghain starts to follow. Celia feels the panic rise inside of her, "Where are you going?"

Loghain looks at her sadly, "We're to make introductions with the ambassadors, stay with Eleanor I'll come get you as soon as I'm able."

"Loghain-"

"I'm sorry, Celia, I'll be right back." He promises following the King and Teyrn.

Celia doesn't allow herself time to be put out, rather she approaches Eleanor and Rowan.

"Ah, Celia I was wondering when you'd join us." Eleanor puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, "You look lovely."

"As do you." Celia returns with a smile, "You as well Rowan."

"Thank you." Rowan lifts a hand to fidget with her necklace and says nothing else.

"How are you feeling about all of this?" Eleanor asks, "I must admit I'm not so anxious to dance with these dignitaries."

"We're what?" Celia asks.

"Didn't Loghain tell you? We're meant to dance with the ambassadors, simply a courtesy of course. But I do loath the thought of dancing with any Orlesian." Eleanor explains.

"I will kill that man. He never tells me anything." Celia says a blush creeping up her neck.

"It's not so bad, you get used to small talk very quickly." Rowan chuckles. Celia wishes she didn't find the queen to be such a distraction, with grey eyes and hair the color of rich fine leather. A voice like velvet and a truly poised disposition, even her deep purple dress exudes an elegance women all over the world could only ever dream of. A wave of insecurity passes through Celia, she thinks herself a pale aggressive girl in comparison.

The moment of self-pity is short lived as they're approached by a group of other noble ladies, the remaining Ferelden's all chattering about. Celia gets by nodding her head and breathing slowly, glancing down at the still empty dance floor. Maker she does not want to dance with any nobleman, well beside her husband of course.

Rowan is approached first, by a Merchant Prince from Antiva, Eleanor informs her that the Merchant Prince's really hold the power there. Celia finds it strange but says nothing, watching as her friend takes the hand of a Prince Vael of Starkhaven. Yet another place Celia's knowledge of is that of a young child, trivial and topical.

Celia is approached by another nobleman not a moment later, "Your ladyship, might I have this dance?"

"Of course." She manages a small smile taking his hand, he's no Orlesian that much is certain, not with that accent.

"You are Teyrn Loghain's wife are you not?" He asks with a genuine curiosity.

"I am."

He chuckles, "I am Viscount Threnhold of Kirkwall. It's a pleasure to meet a lovely creature such as yourself."

"You flatter me, your grace." She says softly.

"I mean it honestly. In the Free Marches, people are convinced you're all brutish thugs, they couldn't be more wrong."

"I-… Don't know what to say." This is quite an uncomfortable conversation.

"You're just as delicate as a flower." He chuckles, and now she thinks he's making fun of her, so she chuckles in return. He spends the remainder of their dance complimenting her appearance, divulging how envious he is of her husband, and to such a degree she'd be relieved to be alone.

That however is too much to hope for, as King Pentaghast asks for the next dance, giving her no room to refuse. He's an old man, slow with his steps and their conversation, he tries to make jokes but she doesn't understand any of them. He calls her a pretty thing with an empty head, or at least that's what she thinks he's said, his accent makes communication difficult.

As soon as that dance ends she's met with the Antivan king, so of course she accepts. Listening to a barrage of compliments and innuendo, Celia glances at the throne pedestal there stands her husband with the king and Bryce, Rowan is climbing the stairs to meet them. She can't believe that no one else has asked the queen to dance, when she finds herself in a barrage of partners. What is this madness?

She is asked to dance with a Duke from the Free Marches, and watches as Eleanor exists the floor. She begins to wonder if she's been tricked, if she should be denying dances. Part of her wants to run away, but the uncertainty in her gut keeps her still. She has no place denying these people anything, after all they leant their aid to her people, probably directly to Gwaren in some cases.

It's not until she hears the Orlesian accent that she feels the weight of all she's doing befall her. The eyes of a man she recalls but can't quite name as he offers her a hand to dance. The world goes silent as she slips her hand in his, should she have denied him? Should she cry or pretend to faint? How can she get out of this?

"I thought I recognized the name, Celia  _Mac Tir,_ from Gwaren is it?" He knows her, why is she not surprised? Why is she not immediately unconscious? Why can't she will herself to leave? Why is her fear so loud in her head?

"That is correct, my lord." She says, afraid to be anything but stoic.

"Hmm." He chuckles as he twirls her to a song she can't hear. The kind of hate she feels is indescribable. "I've been to Gwaren, a wretched place with horrible weather."

"Perhaps that was due in part to the disrepair brought on by the war." She offers, voice firm despite everything she's feeling.

"No, I believe that is a result of being far too south for any sane human being to live." He laughs as she shudders, what would her father say to seeing her so close to an Orlesian? The scars on her back prickle at the thought, at realizing where she recognizes his face from. His laughter an eerie reminder of a past she'd been hoping to leave behind her.

"That is your opinion and you are entitled to,  _Lord Aurelian._ " She says his name with a poisonous type of sweetness.

He smirks at her, "So the Garrison girl does remember." He twirls her out and when he draws her back in, he grasps her neck. Not enough to choke her, but harsh enough that she gasps at the contact. "It's good to know somethings of Orlais have stayed."

He releases her and she rebukes him, "You'll watch yourself, my lord, I outrank you."

"Your king doesn't outrank me. Your country is only a temporary state."

"Are you insinuating war sir?"

He says nothing, but bows to her, the song is over then, she returns the gesture. Ready to turn and run the moment politeness's are out of the way, but she's not given the opportunity. Another Orlesian man with a sneer as vile as a demon itself, this one she recognizes on sight as Lord Chaniel. The two men who accompanied his High Lordship Marcel, everywhere his pompous ass went.

Sick to her stomach, heart jittery and pained, she tries to walk away but he steps in front of her. "Hello my sweet Celia. It's lovely to see you again."

"Please leave me be." She says, willing all the severity in the world to come through her tone.

Lord Aurelian wraps an arm around her waist and before she can utter a cry to release her, Lord Chaniel pours his wine down the front of her dress, slowly never once breaking eye contact.

"Our apologies, your ladyship, allow me to help you." Lord Aurelian suddenly bares a dagger slicing open the laces of her dress and cutting away any fabric in its path. A scream falls out of her lips louder than she can ever recall as he jostles her in his arms.

"You will drop your weapon and unhand my wife, or I swear to the Maker and his bride I will end you." Loghain's voice cannot be described as anything less than wicked. Saturated with the purest kind of hatred Celia's ever heard, tears flow down her face as she tries to glance up at her husband.

His sword is bared against the Lord's neck, Bryce has his own sword positioned to Lord Chaniel, while Maric stands close by the both of them. Probably to make sure Loghain doesn't actually kill anyone, or perhaps to merely ensure she's out of sight when he does. To her surprise, Rowan and Eleanor have also rushed to the scene, looking disheartened and angry.

Even with as simple a gesture as merely lifting her gaze, Celia feels her dress falling down her body, she clings to the fabric for dear life. The darkness in Loghain's eyes is one she's unfamiliar with, something that makes her shuddering heart go cold.

In an instant she's thrust to the ground without so much as a care, she hadn't realized she has been gasping through her sobs. Not until Rowan and Eleanor are helping her stand and rushing her away, and she finds herself incredibly short of breath.

They take her to the queen's chambers and sit her down in the nearest chair. Celia sobs, clutching her own figure as tightly as she can, the shaking won't stop. Eleanor stays with her, not hushing her nor whispering sweet words, instead she touches their foreheads together and runs her hands up and down her arms. Maker willing she'll just disappear in this moment, but she knows that this is an unrealistic hope.

Rowan returns swiftly afterwards, with fine gown and hair brush in hand, "Let's get you changed, quickly."

"No, please… Please don't make me." Celia shakes her head, "Let me leave please." Eleanor backs away from Celia's quivering figure and takes the items out of Rowan's arms.

Rowan kneels before the sobbing Teyrna and places gentle hands over her own. "I'm sorry that this has happened, but you can't just hide away. You must remain strong and commanding of respect."

Celia looks at the queen incredulously, "Why?"

"It is required of us, I hate that we must do it… and believe me, Maric will not show those men mercy. But we must be brave, Celia, show them that we Ferelden's do not let anything shake us."

The thought makes her blood boil, that she is expected to show a sort of strength she's never possessed. All she wants is to lay down and sob, yet that is a luxury she cannot afford, she must press forward and it makes her angry. Orlais has once again forced her hand, made her weak before all of world and forced her to stand tall, face adversity head on. She hates them, wants every last one of them in ruins, and even as she thinks this, she retracts the thought. There's no use in projecting hatred.

Eleanor and Rowan dress her personally, wiping away the tears on her face, the blood and sticky wine. Lord Aurelian did manage to cut into her flesh, not deep enough to last, but still the thought makes her shiver. Rowan has given her one of the most beautiful dresses Celia's ever seen, pale blue lace that's far too lovely for someone of Celia's birth and station.

She says nothing however, resigns herself to her fate and waits patiently to be painted as a picture of grace. The ladies work quickly, and far sooner than she had hoped, she's ready to return to the festivities, not that she's actually 'ready'. Maker end this now before it gets out of hand… again.

The three high ladies walk back into the ballroom without ceremony, although their presence does not go unnoticed for long. Soon a great many of the dignitaries approach her with condolences, three of the remaining Orlesian's approach her with apologies, claiming those men are disgraceful mutts. She thinks it would be too rude to agree, so she merely nods and continues on her way.

The moment she sees her husband, she notices the furry in his gaze; he is nothing short of outraged, and this makes her want to run all the more. Part of her feels guilty again, that she's caused so much outrage, memories of her judgement day and the shame of it all come rushing back.

But when he notices her, he's quick and decisive, rushing to her side and kissing her fiercely, possessively almost. He retracts just enough to crush her to his chest, fingers dancing through her hair.

"I'm sorry, Celia, this will never happen again, I swear to you… Are you alright?"

She swallows his promise, but allows a small genial smile to grace her features, "We'll talk when we get home."

He kisses her again softer this time, trying to convey an apology he should not be speaking. He owes her nothing in this instance, not that Loghain will recognize that. She knows how personally he takes just about everything, a small voice in her head worries for the men in question. Loghain might go to extremes, and that she is certainly not alright with.

The young couple do not depart from the other's side for the remainder of the evening; though a few ambassadors do approach them, Loghain is able to turn them away quickly. Day has broken and the festivities have come to a close, the Mac Tir's are the first to leave. The ride home through a waking Denerim is silent, neither knowing what to say or how.

It's not until they arrive home having retired to their chambers, that he asks. While she is busily taking off jewelry and the queen's dress, he stands just behind.

"Celia… Please talk to me." His voice is soft and she can hardly bear it.

"What is there to say?" She asks, discarding the gown in favor of comfortable nightwear.

"Why did those wretched bastards target you?" His hands are on her shoulders, she can feel his gaze land upon the cut in her back.

She puts her hands on his squeezing them tightly. "Would you believe that I was just an easy target?"

"No, you are my wife, everyone knows that. Nobody in their right mind would dare to attempt what they did." She walks away from his grasp, draping the gown over the ottoman at the foot of their bed. She wants to go to bed, sleep away the memories of the night.

"Orlesians are idiots." She shakes her head.

"You're avoiding me, I won't have that." He says firmly, with a jarring finality.

"And what will you have me do? Can't we just forget about this?" In a way Celia wants to forget all about Denerim, though she recognizes that is an impossibility.

"Those Orlesians are to be punished for their transgressions, but I need to know the extent of it." Her husband stands before her, just as fearsome as before. Why her instinct is to cry, she can't say; but the tears start in earnest and before she knows it her grip is tight around his waist.

He holds her in that same possessive way, tight and strong, like his arms will keep all else at bay. With a sigh he places his chin atop her head, and waits for her to stop crying. Even though she's fairly certain she'll never stop crying, it feels like a constant state at this point.

Pressing her cheek into his chest she says, "They were there… that day when I was…"

Adjusting his hold on her, they let the silence take over until it is too much for either of them. "And they did nothing?"

She closes her eyes, recalling the scene as it happened, "I was only supposed to receive ten lashes, a slap on the wrist for harassing his High Lordship… I didn't want to give them anything, my father… my father always told us to keep as much as we could from the Orlesians. So, I bit my lip and kept quiet, I thought at the least I could keep my pride."

Her breath is heavy in her chest thoughts swimming in her mind, as her husband's grip tightens. "And they… The two of them said I deserved more, that I should be groveling for forgiveness. His High Lordship agreed, I thought I could handle ten more and I remembered counting to twenty-seven before I thought I'd gone blind… and I didn't want to submit, but I didn't want to die!" She nearly collapses with sobbing, coming to the realization that she can't handle the rush of memories.

Her husband lifts her into his arms with ease and takes a seat on the bed. She cries into his neck, all the while he never once hushes her, only holding her bone crushingly tight. He lets her remember in silence, his breath catching every now and then, which tells her he remains furious.

"I can still hear them laughing." She says, her voice has never been so small, she has never been so bare before anyone. Even on that dreadful day when she'd begged for forgiveness at the feet of those Orlesian bastards.

"They're dead men." He says, voice so dreadfully honest she feels the words settle disturbingly over her skin.

Trying to quell her own sobs she moves her face, placing her forehead on his, barely able to look in his eyes; unable to bear the anger she'll find should she do so. "Please, don't be angry…"

"No, Celia, don't think I'm an ounce angry with you." One of his hands travels up her back to cup her neck. He kisses her then, but it feels empty, like he's hiding his anger so not to upset her more.

"Will you come to bed? Can we worry about this later?" She asks, finally opening her eyes. She was right to assume his anger, he's not an expressive man, except for his eyes. There he is plain as day, and somehow she can read his thoughts; she sees anger, misery, confusion, frustration, but most of all she sees a painstaking loyalty.

He sighs, a sound of defeat which prompts her to kiss his brow. "I love you, Celia. I'm only acting this way because I care for you so much."

"I know. I love you too." She responds softly. Her face remains warm and flushed, as she slides off of her husband's lap, allowing him to change. Only he doesn't right away, he stares at her, takes in her tearstained face and looks as though he's trying to calculate something.

However, he rises from the bed and dresses quickly, with the curtains drawn the couple lies next to one another. Loghain rests his hand on her cheek, running his thumb along the lines of her face, they stare at the other. Eyes growing heavy, Celia is the first to start drifting off, she feels him lean forward and kiss her hairline.

As the bed moves under his weight she mutters, "Don't go."

The warmth of his body is closer than before, and the last thing she hears, "I won't."

There's a cold snap the following week, Celia is relieved to be staying indoors, away from all the commotion of court life. Loghain doesn't want her alone, but he's also content to leave her in the estate when he needs to hold counsel with Maric. She doesn't mind, the quiet is a relief from the hectic nature of nobility.

The cold melts away soon enough, and just days before they're meant to leave for home, Loghain invites her to spend the day at the market with him. He rarely asks her to do anything of the sort, and he's got a sweet look in his eye when he approaches her that morning.

So, bundled up for the cold, the young couple heads out for a day, something that is entirely normal for many couples. But for the Mac Tir's it's an intimate sort of gesture, Loghain is sweet on his wife; giving her kisses and holding her waist as they walk. He insists on buying her some trinket or other, but she really wants for nothing.

Celia notices a crowd forming in the center of the Market District and she wonders for only a moment what it could possibly be. Until she feels a hand on her shoulder and notices the telltale sign of a jailor standing on the platform.

"Loghain, what's going on?" She asks skeptically.

He gives her a pinched smile, "You'll see, dear." He insists on pushing them towards the crowd, but she knows what this is.

"Why did you bring me here?" She asks fear pulsing through her; watching the two lords who assaulted her get tied down to the whipping posts.

"Because you deserve to see these pigs get what was coming all along." He tells her.

"What in the name of the Maker would compel you to think I wanted to watch… this!?" She demands, frantic and terrified as her eyes land on the whip, her spine tingles just at the sight.

"This is justice. He tells her, "They have earned this."

"But I don't want to see it." Her breath has gone erratic, body trembling as the sentence is read aloud.  _War crimes, the assault of a noble lady, thirty lashes each,_  Celia is sick to her stomach this can't be real, this cannot be happening.

She throws her face into Loghain's chest as the first crack ripples through the air, the scream she wants to expel dies in her throat. Left with rasping breaths she repeats, "Breathe, just breathe, keep breathing."

Every lash burns the scars of her back and she's there, laying in the dirt tied to a whipping post. Sweat streaming into her eyes as her father looks on furious, her mother faint beside him, the rest complacent. Terrified to be next, wondering if this is their new lives, the only thing they have left to look forward to.

She doesn't cry, though she wants to, but she can't give her tears to them, can't give them anything. Loghain's hold on her is so feather light she remembers the way air tickled fresh wounds, the sting following the crack.

And the lord cries out, but all she can hear is sickening laughter and that of the very breath coming from her own mouth. Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, she wants to die all over again.

"The Emperor of Orlais wasn't shocked by our actions, he said to deal with them however we saw fit." Loghain says the words easily, as if none of this is troubling.

Celia grinds her teeth,  _It's alright, we're doing the Emperor's dirty work_ , but somehow this idea improves nothing. Her mind is racing, she is horrified, why in the Maker's name did her husband think this was acceptable?

"I want to leave." She says, one lord has concluded his sentence, Celia doesn't know if she can stand the other. "Please."

He looks at her confused, "Why? You've no reason to be scared."

He won't understand, he can't understand what this is like, so she grips his shirt and listens. Fills the silence with memories and tries to breathe, even and especially when it feels impossible to do so.

As quickly as it began, the commotion is over, and Celia is exhausted as she looks up at her husband. "We are leaving now."

She doesn't wait for an answer, she walks away, back to the estate with him trailing behind her or not. Back in their shared chambers, she tears off her winter cloak tossing it aside, before slipping off her boots.

"You're angry." He says entering after her.

"I am furious." She says meeting his gaze, knowing that she'll never be as angry as her husband can be, but in this moment she's dangerously close.

"I don't know why."

"Because you just made me relive one of the worst experiences of my life." She explains as plainly as possible.

"Those men deserved what they got." He raises his voice.

"I'm not denying that! I am telling you that I didn't want to bear witness to it!" Her voice matches his tone.

"Why not? You deserved to see justice done!"

"What do you know of justice!?"

"It's what my father would have done!" He grabs her shoulders and she tries to fight his touch, "Damnit, Celia, I did the right thing!"

"Maybe for someone else! But you did not do right by me!"

He rushes her with a kiss, harsh and greedy, so sudden she can't act right away. Just as she starts to jerk her arms out of his hold, he lets them go instead grabbing at her legs and lifting her up. Startled by the movement she grasps his shoulders, jarred and confused he pushes her up against the wall.

His lips are on hers again, she isn't entirely sure what's happening, or at least why it's happening. Why is he going to take her now?

He's already made quick work of the laces of her dress, has her underskirts discarded to the floor and she isn't certain she recalls it happening. His hand is stuck in his sleeve, the frantic jerking doesn't improve the situation, halfway between piecing the situation together, Celia finds herself helping him undress.

Naked, pressed against a wall, with her legs wrapped around her shirtless husband; her body acts for her, grinding hips against his ribs. He groans loudly at the movement, discarding his trousers in an instant, she isn't even slick for him as he enters, pushing and pulsing into her.

Part of her cries out in pain, the other cries out at the confused pleasure she experiences from it. This has all happened in a whirlwind, and while she's still fueled with anger; there's a more primal instinct inside of her, crying out for more, more touch, more of him.

She's gripping his shoulders, digging her nails into the skin, and kissing him with a raging strength. He pushes into her depths over and over before his release, sighing into her skin as he leaks down the wall onto the floor. With one hand she reaches up to push her hair back while trying to stand back on her own two feet.

But his grip on her tightens as she does, "Where do you think you're going?"

"I thought you were finished with me, husband." She says, trying to keep her voice even and cool.

"No, not yet." Without warning he lifts her from the wall, taking all of her weight and walks them a few paces to the sitting area. Laying her out on the couch he hovers over her. "I'm most certainly not done with you yet."

He's back to kissing her, harsh desperate kisses that border on painful but taste like delicious sin. She thinks she's still angry, isn't sure why he's taking her, and still finds herself doubtful of all of this. The thrumming of her center is all too distracting as his fingers race circles around her.

His hot breath travels down her bare skin, pressing his lips into her skin, his fingers teasing the tender flesh they come into contact with. Practically begging with bated breath and moaning his name, he coaxes her into climax.

When he's watched her ride out every wave of pleasure, his lips are back on hers and a soft whisper comes out of him. "Am I forgiven, wife?"

She doesn't know what to say exactly, isn't sure she does forgive him in fact. The way he's taken her feels wrong in a way, and by proxy she feels dirty. But in the breathless aftermath of sex she nods to him, relief floods his features as he places his head in the crook of her neck.

"I love you, Celia. Never doubt that." It's commanding in a way. A halfway statement that leaves little room for argument.

Fingers already twisted up in his hair, she responds the only way she knows how. "I'm yours."


	3. Act 3

**Act 3: The part of the story where everything goes wrong.**

Celia does not return to Denerim for the Landsmeet the following year, Loghain finds it suitable for her to remain in Gwaren during his absence. She is surprised by the brevity of his leave, she misses her husband dearly and yet while she is acting in his place she feels at ease.

Loghain returns before the first day of the year, Celia is not expecting the rush of joy she feels upon seeing him. She'd been reviewing trade documents from the previous year, in her personal study when she heard the telltale sound of boots clanking against the floor.

"You're not due back for another month." She smiles brightly, trying not to rush him with an embrace. His face is cold as he presses it into her neck.

"Well, there was no reason for me to remain and every reason for me to return." He responds, pulling back to kiss her. The chill on his lips doesn't bother her in the slightest, in fact it spurs her to cup his cheeks in her hands.

"Come warm up, you're absolutely freezing." She says ushering him to the fire, his laughter ringing through the walls of Castle Gwaren. It's jarring how quickly Celia has learned to switch gears from work to wife, but she doesn't dwell on it as she takes her husband's riding cloak. "How was the Landsmeet, darling?"

"It passed quickly and without incident, that was the most I could hope for." He smiles at her, a rare sincere kind of smile that leaves her aching for him. He removes his gloves, which she also takes and places on her desk chair.

"I hoped you would have said something to the effect of, 'I'm missed you terribly, wife, it was all too boring without you ruining everything'." She chuckles as he sits before the fire.

"You did not ruin everything, and I'll have you know I did miss you, terribly in fact." He looks at her with an amused sort of offense.

"Humor me then." She teases, leaning in for another kiss, taking his hands in hers to warm them just a bit faster.

"I came home just so I could see you, is that not enough?"

"Well, you could have tried a bit harder, but I'll accept that." She laughs against his lips, her hands bringing warmth to every patch of skin they touch. From the sides of his face to the back of his neck, "You could have caught your death out there you know."

"You were worth it." He assures her before placing his lips on hers once more. He's hungry in the way he touches her, hungry for warmth and touch, both of which she is ready and willing to give.

Her dress slides off with practiced ease, though they're careful not to toss their clothing into the fire, a mistake that can only be made once. In a series of kissing and tasting the other, they've wormed their way out of their clothing, Celia astride her husband positioned just so the tip of him barely reaching her entrance.

Her fingers draw a slow line up his length, all the while she smiles teasingly. "I missed you as well, husband, since you asked."

"I assumed the way you threw yourself on me." He laughs as evenly as man can when he's being touched just so by his bride.

"That's quite some talk for a man at my mercy." She leans in for another kiss, curling her fingers into the strands of his overgrown hair.

"Show me how much you missed me." He responds, with a smirk she slowly eases down onto him; the sound he makes mixes relief and pleasure to the point they sound harmonious.

Bucking her hips, she presses every sensitive spot between the both of them, moaning and breathy praises dance in the air as she does. Surges of excitement course through her, shaking her down to the bone before Loghain is ready for it.

"Were you so chaste for me wife? Did you pine for me often?"

In the aftermath of her pleasure, she sighs, "I did, I longed for your warmth in our bed. I dreamt of your hands touching me."

"Tell me why."

"Because… I'm yours." She sighs resting her head on his shoulder, he finishes inside of her and his bated breath joins hers. Hands trailing up and down the expanse of her back, Loghain kisses her cheek. They say nothing that touch cannot communicate, and they remain as such for longer than either of them expects.

Celia moves first, stands up to redress and call for dinner, to be sent up to their chambers. Loghain finds this amusing but makes no move to protest, he enjoys the company of his wife far too much to deny her. That night and any other night that she demands his attention.

She falls pregnant sometime around Drakonis, at least that's what she figures once she's gathered herself enough to think it through. It was a sudden thought, random at best, when she acknowledges how her cycle is never even a day late, and she is currently sitting on two weeks without. Perhaps she should have guessed it last week when she'd had sex with her husband and her breasts practically burned under his touch. Or even earlier than that the very day she was not met with blood.

Part of her wants to panic, to run to her husband's study and tell him the news; yet she remains stagnant, knowing in the back of her mind that no one speaks freely of pregnancy. Especially at the beginning of such a process, she's little experience in the matter of childbearing, but she does know that women hardly speak of the experience until it is long since over. Even her own mother spoke little of her pregnancies throughout Celia's young life.

In addition to these things, she isn't sure how the nobility treat this kind of condition, Loghain most certainly will not know, so why bother telling him? It will be for the best that she keep this quiet for now, she resolves, and continues on with her day.

In the following few weeks she begins to notice more changes, in her body and her mind. She feels ill and tired as she has heard from other women, but more than that she finds herself feeling more melancholy; crying throughout the day and unable to figure out why.

She holds a hope in her heart that her dear husband will notice her shift in attitude, but he doesn't seem to notice anything different about her. In fact, months pass by before he says anything, and it's an offhand comment at that.

A rude little quip about her behavior, that she's, "Really developed a delicate sense of humor in our later married life." He kisses her forehead when he notices how upset he's made her, and assures her he's only jesting.

Finally, as she nears her fifth month of pregnancy, she recognizes she can no longer keep the news from her husband. As she's dressing for the day she notices the telltale swell of her stomach, albeit small and still quite easy to conceal. It suddenly becomes clear to her that if she doesn't say something, her idiotic husband might not catch on until the babe arrives.

So, she goes to his study, resolute and shaking, as she thinks of the proper way to address her state. He hardly pays her any attention as she walks into the room, and the silence between them grows the longer she stands there.

"Yes, dear, what is it?" He asks not even sparing a glance in her direction.

"I need to speak with you." She says.

"I gathered that." He responds just as coolly and uninterested as before.

"I'm pregnant." She out and says not taking her eyes off of her husband for a second. Watching as realization washes over him, stalling all movement until he manages to look up at her.

"You're… You're pregnant?"

"I am."

"And you're… certain?" He looks baffled, like he can't even conceive the notion of them having a child together.

"I wouldn't be telling you so otherwise." She says resolutely.

He looks back down at the parchment before him, then returns his gaze to her, he repeats this agonizingly slow motion for a few turns. Then he finally says, "Oh."

"Oh?" Celia asks, part of her is unable to believe that this man could act this way. The other part of her is just surprised he's spoken at all.

"I don't know what to say." One hand reaches up to comb through his hair.

"That much is obvious." She responds, and notices that her hands rest on the little swell of life within her. An unconscious motion that nearly sends a chill down her spine; this isn't the first time she's recognized that she had never envisioned herself a mother, but this is the most visceral experience she's had since falling pregnant.

"H-how long?" He asks, his eyes landing on the position of her hands, confusion blatant in his staring.

"How long have I been with child, or how long until the babe is born? If it's the former about five months, the latter less than four I'd imagine." She says so confidently. Something about watching her husband falter makes her feel powerful, perhaps it is a gentle reminder that he too is only man.

"You… Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He asks, leaning back in his chair, his hands running down to the nape of his neck.

"I did not want to speak of it lest something went wrong."

He shakes his head letting out a long breath, his eyes have not left the vicinity of her middle, like he believes if he stares for long enough he'll see the babe within her. She moves first, walking right up to his desk and gently taking his hands, just so he'll stop running them through his hair.

"It's going to be okay, Loghain." She says.

He looks between her face and her stomach before taking his hands from her and touching the swell. His touch has never been so hesitant and the moment he does touch her, he pulls his hand away. "Maker, help me."

"I think he already has." Celia places her hand on his cheek and smiles softly.

Loghain nods once, seems to gather his courage as he places his hand back to their child, firmly this time she can feel the pressure and heat radiating off of him. The two of them remain still and silent as if they'll somehow figure everything out by saying nothing. However, they're not that kind of couple, the kind that can speak in the silences, they're far too alike and different for a love like that.

"I want you to come with me, to Denerim."

"I'm sorry what?" She asks.

"Please Celia, come with me."

"Why are we going to the Denerim?"

"For the Landsmeet." He says as if it's obvious.

"You… You can't possibly be serious."

"It will be safer for you deliver farther north anyhow, better doctors, a gentler winter."

"Are you genuinely hearing yourself?" She asks, "I'm in no condition to travel, Loghain-"

"I've made up my mind, dear." He finally removes his hands from her and stands up. "It's for the best."

"That fast? You could barely think a moment ago. How do you suddenly know what's best?"

"Celia, please." He takes her face roughly in both hands and kisses her, lips tight and so aggressive neither of them can breathe. When he releases her he whispers, "Just please don't argue with me."

"I think this is a mistake." She responds softly, though a part of her wants to cry.

"It isn't." His hands fall down her body, run across the expanse of her stomach and then to the small of her back. He pulls her close, holds her as tightly as he can manage and she holds back her tears as he does so. Why in the Maker's name did she think he'd react any different?

In the following days, Loghain has decided for them to leave for the capitol before the weather does not allow for smooth travels. Celia does not tell her family about the child, although during her last visit before leaving Gwaren her brother Dillon brings his fiancée; in the heat of excitement she almost announces her pregnancy. However, she represses the urge, knowing that it will only cause more of a ruckus than she's able to deal with.

They leave on what must be the last warm day in Gwaren, Celia cries as they go, unashamed in her emotional state.

Loghain acknowledges this briefly, "Everything's alright dear." He assures her.

"I'm glad you think so." She sniffles dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.

"There's nothing to be upset about."

"Of course, you would think that, no matter what happens you'll be alive at the end of this." She says bitterly, the words once born in the air are hard to hear. Nevertheless, she stands by them, staring her husband down as they lock eyes.

"You won't die Celia, your mother survived five births, you'll be just fine."

"Six." Celia says, "And I never said I feared for myself, darling."

Loghain puts his work aside and reaches across the carriage to grab her hand. "We're going to Denerim to better the chances for both you and the baby. You will not die away from home, and the child will live to see Gwaren. I want no talk of such things anymore, am I understood?"

"Just because I do not say it, does not make it any less a reality we may have to face, together or alone." She retorts, a sob stuck in her throat.

Loghain sighs as if he's speaking to a petulant child, "That's enough, your condition has your mind going all sorts of places it needn't be going to. You and the child will be just fine, read your book, it will ease your mind."

"Could you acknowledge my fears for just a second… Please?"

"Not when they're baseless and unwarranted. You've nothing to fear." He says, before leaning forward to kiss her hand. She takes in a deep breath as he resumes his work, eyes wandering back to the window. She spends the majority of the trip watching the countryside pass by, the only part about going to Denerim that doesn't leave a sour taste in her mouth.

She falls ill just past South Reach, like the babe inside of her is just as upset about all of this. At first she elects to ignore it, tells herself that it is merely her condition that has her so exhausted and nothing more. But just as they reach Dragon's Peak she knows as they stop for the night she cannot lift herself from the carriage.

Loghain had noticed her lack of energy earlier in the day and the look he wears before the carriage halts gives Celia an aching feeling in her chest. He does not wait for the door to open, he calls for a doctor and immediately lifts her up in his arms. The inn they're staying at must have received word in advance, as there's a turned down bed for her and a warm bath still steaming in the corner.

A doctor arrives quickly, and a midwife not far behind; the doctor tries to coax Loghain from the room, but her husband barks at the man, that he will not leave her side until he knows exactly what state she's in. The doctor is reluctant but the midwife is not so hesitant, during the men's argument she'd already hiked up Celia's skirts and check for dilation.

"Nothing just yet, thank the Maker…" She shakes her head, Loghain and the doctor turn their attention to the midwife. "With the stress you must've been under during travel and by the looks of how low you're carrying; I wouldn't find myself surprised if that babe of yours comes out in a few days."

"She's not due for another two months." Loghain says sternly.

"I'm aware, your lordship, perhaps you should have taken that into consideration before dragging your poor wife halfway across the continent." The midwife replaces Celia's skirts before walking up to her bedside and taking her hand. "You'll be in my prayers tonight, Maker willing that babe stays put, it's not ready for this world."

Celia mutters a weak thank you, that must sound more like a whimper with the way the midwife nods. Her husband and the doctor put aside their differences, Loghain remaining in her room as the doctor conducts his examination. He eventually concludes that she's not contracted the blight, and given enough rest she should manage to survive. Though he leaves strict instructions and a particular array of poultices before the Mac Tir's are left alone for the night.

"You should have a bath." Loghain says once the door is latched, removing his informal doublet as he does.

"I want nothing more than to sleep." Celia responds, voice lilted and breathless. He's already tested the water of the bath and rolled up his sleeves by the time she's choked out a response.

"You should be clean from the road, then you'll have your medicine-" He lifts her body off the bed and begins to undress her, "Then you can rest... I swear to the Maker Celia…"

She says nothing, allows him to strip her and lay her in the bath, whatever else Loghain is; be it brash and emotionally incompetent, he is still compassionate. He's still a farm boy who has no idea what he's doing, and he's trying his damnedest to do right in the world. In her fevered state, she can manage at the least that kind thought for her husband; after all, how many noblemen would wash their bride's hair when she's ill? How many men in Thedas would treat their wives this way?

He wraps her hair up in towels, before doing the same to her body, and she feels a strange patter inside of her when she realizes how intimate this gesture is. Her body must register this as the baby moving within her, before her muddied brain can, as she reaches out and guides his hand to the movement. They wait for a breath before the child moves just under his touch.

"At least I can leave you a child." She says weakly.

"You're not going anywhere, Celia, don't you even entertain the idea." He responds with finality.

"Okay." She would nod if she had the strength, instead she touches her forehead to his jaw, feeling him tremble as she does so.

"Maker's Breath you're burning up." He mutters, whether it was to fill the silence or just to inform her, Celia's too exhausted to decipher. She's fairly certain she falls asleep in his arms, because the next thing she becomes aware of is lying in bed and Loghain coaxing medicine down her throat.

Her consciousness is fleeting at best the next few days, fading in and out at random hours. She's able to piece together small things in her bouts of alertness; she's not gone into labor, the treatment is working to some extent, and she is not dead being the most prominent of realizations.

About a week after their arrival she's able to sit up and have a short conversation with her husband, which is something to the effect of;

"Is the baby alright?"

"Yes, dear, please eat this."

"How long has it been?"

"Five days, eat."

From what she can gather, Loghain has not left her side except for when the doctor must be attending her. When she's cognizant long enough to process this fact she smiles at him, wraps up their fingers like stitching and tells him she loves him. He kisses her forehead and smiles like someone who's seeing the ocean for the first time since childhood.

Then of course she wakes one morning feeling a rush of pain deep in her back and has to suppress her panic. Loghain, seeing her waken begins to prepare her medications, as calmly as she can, Celia asks for him to, "Send for the midwife."

She closes her eyes to avoid his panic, but even then she hears him frantically drop what he was holding and rush from the room. Laying there alone for only a few moments she holds her breath, the pain slowly builds to a burning sensation that spreads all the way through to her hips. Trying to convince herself that there's no possible way this can be labor pains, she moves her hands from gripping the bed to cupping the underside of her stomach; As if she can just hold the babe inside of her.

"Celia, breathe dear." Loghain appears beside her once again, shaking hand on the side of her face. Letting out all of the air inside of her as a groan instead of a sigh, she turns her head into her husband's hand.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, resisting the temptation to fall into hysterics.

"Don't be sorry, just try to breathe, alright? The midwife will be here soon." He kisses her head and keeps his face close to hers, as if to memorize her features should the worst come to pass.

The midwife is quick to arrive, immediately asking after Celia's symptoms and checking for dilation. The pain has not faded since she has been awake, which seems to concern both her husband and the midwife.

"The good news is I don't believe you're in labor and there's no blood." The midwife says with a sigh, walking to Celia's bedside. "I think that the child is settling too far back, however. I would attribute that to being on strict bedrest for so long."

"She's not well enough to be up and about." Loghain says definitively.

"I understand that, but the longer we let the child stay in that position the more dangerous delivery becomes for the both of them." A stiff silence over takes the three of them, Celia still in pain as the quiet grows heavier and heavier.

"Well?" Celia eventually asks, "I'm not going to sit here and decidedly do nothing." The midwife takes this as her chance to bypass Loghain and help his wife. She has the Teyrna take up several different positions, trying to ease the pain while her husband watches on, disapproval in his gaze.

By the end of it all, she exhausted, but her body is able to relax. She thinks she hears a quick dispute between Loghain and the midwife; by that point however, she's halfway to the fade and couldn't be bothered by anything less than an archdemon.

When she does wake again, Loghain still wears a scowl, but he says nothing of the earlier incident. In the next few days he tries to be gentle with her, while still following the midwife's instructions. A part of Celia is surprised he's doing even so much as this, and when Loghain notices this he says to her.

"I'm not about to put you at risk because of my feelings, love. Never doubt that everything I do is with my very best intentions." He never calls her love, either she looks just that pathetic or he's trying to convey a genuine concern and has no other way of doing so.

They leave soon after that, Celia bundled up in her warmest clothes and Loghain asking after her every twenty minutes. Despite this delay, they manage to arrive in Denerim some weeks before the Landsmeet, much to her surprise.

Once they arrive at the estate, Loghain is adamant that Celia get her rest; asks for all invitations to be sent to his office so that he might decline them for her, and practically locks her in their chambers. When she asks if she should not take up confinement in her own quarters, Loghain scoffs at the idea; calls confinement a barbaric practice that no wife of his will be a part of.

Tells her simply that as soon as she's regained more of her strength he'll find no issue in her going where she please. This is a temporary state, and she believes him despite her better judgement.

She is grateful that despite falling ill, the baby seems to be growing just fine. There has been little interruption in its development, at least it seems so; the child moves frequently and the size of her stomach is undeniably heavy with child now. She contemplates these things in the early morning, when the baby moves too much for her to sleep; so Celia sits and watches the sun rise drawing patterns over the child as light melts into the window before her.

"You're singing." Loghain's sleep soaked voice breaks Celia's reverie.

"Hm?" She asks, trying not to seem as startled as she feels.

"You were singing, to the baby, I've never heard you do that before." He's behind her now, impossible warm skin brushing against her own hands.

"That's because I'm positively awful at it." Celia chuckles as he kisses her temple, "Sorry to have woken you."

"It's quite alright, I'm glad for some moments of peace." He says rounding the sofa and sitting beside her. Celia can't help but agree, smiling at her husband as he kisses her again, his lips warm and dry against hers. In those few minutes, she thinks she knows what love looks like, feels like, it is tangible. Real even, in a way she hadn't ever been sure was possible.

Moments such as these are not meant to last, and as quickly as it had come it's over. Loghain stands to get dressed, but not before confirming that she is in fact feeling better. She indulges herself by watching him change, takes pleasure in the sight of her husband and feels an unfamiliar surge of protectiveness wash over her. Blaming the influx of emotion on her condition she turns from him and looks back out the window. Snow hasn't fallen yet, back in Gwaren the ice and chill would be thick and rampant, perhaps Loghain was not totally incorrect.

As before, Loghain spends much of his time out of the estate, though he does return at dine with her twice a day. While she doesn't mind the quiet, as she gets further into the pregnancy she finds it more and more difficult to do anything at all. From what she's come to understand, this normal, but that doesn't stop her from finding it infuriating when she can't stand up without trying three times.

Even still, she wakes up nearly a week and a half after their arrival to Denerim, only to realize they've absolutely nothing prepared for the child and the due date looms ever closer. And so she begins to speak with Master Gavrial about preparations to her quarters, orders a crib and all manner of things for the child. After she's given every detail about preparations for her quarters the two walk down to the main hall, Celia asking an endless string of questions.

Just as she asking after names of reputable midwives, Loghain arrives and looks at her strangely.

"Welcome home darling." Celia smiles at her husband.

"What are you doing?" Loghain asks eyeing her.

"I was just discussing options for a midwife-"

"Gavrial take my wife back to bed." He says without even a hint of acknowledgement towards his wife.

"I don't need to go back to bed, I feel just fine."

"You look tired, go back to bed, we'll take lunch in our quarters."

"I'm fine."

"Don't make me carry you there Celia, I swear I'll do it." He barks at her, which in turn has Gavrial inching away from the quarreling couple.

"You will not lay a hand on me." She snaps back, equally as aggressive.

"I'm not about to argue this with you." Loghain dismisses her, stepping just a fraction closer. His presence daunting and undeniably intimidating, for a long moment Celia tries to decipher a way to fight back. The two of them stare intently at one another, the kind of eye contact one can physically feel, and neither of them are willing to budge.

However, as quickly as their quarrel started, it ends abruptly, with Celia realizing that he has every argument to throw at her; and she is not willing to stand there all day arguing. Without a word she turns around and walks back towards her and Loghain's chambers.

Some serving girls are already setting up a small lunch for Celia and her husband, and she comes to the realization as soon as the door is shut behind her, she's already given up on being angry with Loghain. She may very well have married the most frustrating man in Thedas, and in her current state, it seems more a survival tactic than anything else that she's let go of her anger.

Loghain enters the room not long after she did, he's holding a few missives in his hand but he is staring at her intently. "You're pale-"

"Stop, right there, I am not about to spend all day arguing. Shut your mouth and come eat." Her tone is sharp but not aggressive as she takes a seat before their meal. He sighs at her a heavy plaintive kind of sigh, as if she didn't understand before how put out he was. She speaks absently about the preparations she'd been in the middle of making, he nods and offers little in regards to the conversation until she turns to ask. "How was your morning?"

He looks at her with a gaze she'd threaten to call dejected as he responds, telling her all sorts of things she couldn't even pretend to understand. The way he goes on makes her wonder if the world isn't falling apart, or perhaps, that it in fact always is. Soon their conversation lasts well past their typical lunch hour, Celia can't say she minds much.

She's not particularly certain she's eased her husband's mind at all but by the time he's finished sulking, the sun is setting and she can only smile.

"What's got you so happy? You like the idea of trade war?" Loghain asks with a sigh.

"Not at all." She says with a soft laugh, "But I do love seeing you passionate, sometimes I forget that passion can be put towards good as well."

"You are still angry about earlier."

"No, it's just that even after almost three years of marriage I find myself still trying to figure you out."

He chuckles, "Well that certainly isn't going to happen."

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, "You ass."

"I'd be a terrible tactician if you could have me figured out, dear." He walks over to her and kisses her, she feels his smile grow against her own, until they pull away.

"Promise me something, Loghain." She says with a pleasant smile, "Well two things."

"Anything."

"The first is that you'll learn to apologize to me every once and a while, even if you don't think you're at fault. Entertain me sometimes would you?"

He rolls his eyes but keeps the smile present on his face, "Would you do me the same curtesy then?"

"I daresay I already do. But if it will please you, husband, then yes I will."

"Then I will promise the very same." He takes both of her hands in his and kisses them. "Now your second?"

"Help me stand up and don't laugh at me as you do." He bites his lip the moment she's asked her question, but complies with a grace one would not suspect he were capable of.

Just days before the Landsmeet, Loghain informs his bride that they'll be attending an informal banquet, Maric is holding. Supposedly Loghain tried to get out of the event, and Celia isn't even a touch surprised at the notion; but was unable to convince Maric that their absence would go over well.

Part of Celia is glad to leave the estate, and the other part is horrified at the thought; after all she's very near her due date and pregnancy is not often talked about by the nobility. Let alone being seen in such a condition, to her understanding the notion is absolutely unsightly in higher circles.

Having never been the type to shy away from attention, she scolds herself as the thought occurs to her. Back in Gwaren, women are unashamed of their state walking around the market and working up until delivery, why should she find herself embarrassed? Perhaps it is the idea that she'll be thought of as barbaric, seen as the low status she is.

Despite all of these thoughts she is dressed and ready for the evening, waiting for her husband to join her in their carriage. He wears his ever-permanent scowl as he climbs in after her, not even a moment after the horses begin to move he's rattling off, about nothing in particular. He does mention something about leaving early and to make sure she speaks up the moment she's ready to do so.

She nods and responds, "Of course, darling." Any time it seems he's looking for a response, as she is far too busy with worry about this to pay him any mind.

The castle is just as beautiful and grand as she remembers, upon walking in Celia feels her heart clench. But she keeps her grip on Loghain's arm firm as they walk through the echoing halls to the formal parlor, the voices of others already enjoying festivities growing ever closer.

It may be an informal banquet, but no expense was spared, and just about every noble Celia remembers is in attendance. Loghain takes his arm from her and wraps it around her back, leading her through the crowd. She can already feel the intent stares and fevered whispering spread across the hall.

"Loghain you bastard!" Maric's ever jovial voice breaks through the awkwardness, the two men embrace laughing so loudly it could be heard in Orlais. "Congratulations, to the both of you."

Maric turns to Celia and kisses her cheeks, "You look radiant, Celia."

"Thank you, Maric." She chuckles, "Don't tell me that you didn't know that I'm with child."

"I'm afraid your husband never mentioned it."

"Don't side against me now." Loghain laughs.

"Why didn't you say anything dear?" She asks.

"I wanted to give you some peace." He assures her with a kiss to the side of her head.

A soft, "Congratulations." Comes from Queen Rowan who approached much slower than her husband. There's a sadness hanging in her eyes, and Celia has no idea why she always looks so forlorn. Until she notices, the queen's lingering gaze on her stomach and she realizes that Rowan and Maric have been married for some years longer than Loghain and herself. Perhaps the queen is barren, and suddenly Celia feels terribly for having judged her so.

"Don't tell me you dragged our poor girl all the way from Gwaren in her condition." Maric says, humor still present in his tone, yet a part of her feels as though he's scolding her husband.

"Let's not get back on that particular argument." Celia says moving back towards her husband, he gives her a grateful look before hugging her back into his side.

"Fine, fine." Maric chuckles throwing up his hands before taking his own wife into his arms.

"Celia, Loghain, congratulations." Bryce Cousland breaks through the crowd to approach them.

"Thank you… Where's Eleanor?" She asks softly.

"Oh, I forget you didn't attend the last Landsmeet, she's stopped coming to Denerim for now. Fergus has gotten a bit older but she's not ready to leave him alone just yet."

"Ah, I see… I should write her more than I do." Truth be told Celia and Eleanor have sent a rare few letters between each other. Despite the fact that Celia sees the Lady Cousland as her only friend among the nobility.

"I'm sure she'll be thrilled to hear you're expecting." Bryce commends her, before the three men and Rowan begin to discuss something political. Celia wishes she could keep up but everything they're saying is far over her head, besides she's become preoccupied with watching the crowd. People's gazes fleeting the moment they notice that she returns their staring. She swears she catches a glimpse of familiar features, but she cannot name the person her mind is trying to bring forth.

She hates herself for it, but after only standing for some twenty minutes she finds herself growing tired. Trying to suppress her frustration she turns to her husband and says softly, "I think I'll go find a seat darling."

"Is everything alright? Are you well?" He asks interrupting his conversation.

"Yes, I'm fine, I just want to sit." She says, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Why don't you take her to the sitting room, there should be less people." Maric says, and Celia tries not to cringe at the concern in his voice.

Loghain leads her to the adjoining room, there are far fewer people in the small sitting room, the air almost feels less heavy here.

"Do you need anything?" He asks, helping her sit on one of the couches.

"No, I'm alright, really." She says, trying to keep her breath.

"Are you certain? You don't-"

"I am fine, Loghain. Go back to your socializing, I'll be here."

He looks at her wearily, says, "I'll be back to check on you in a bit." Before he walks back into the crowd of people, Celia closes her eyes for just a second, to take a breath when she hears a familiar voice she never thought she'd hear again.

"Is that my Celia?"

"I thought I smelled a rat." She chuckles turning to the man taking a seat beside her.

"I'm a crow, not a rat, pregnancy really must have gotten to you my dear." He laughs, "I can hardly believe my eyes, not only are you here, but married and with child."

"You don't have to tell me, Damian, I can hardly believe it all myself."

"I suppose I don't have to ask how you're faring then?"

"I suppose not." She smirks at him. "Are you here to kill someone?"

"Maker no." He chuckles, "Just the typical espionage, who do you take me for?" She shakes her head, still in slight disbelief that Damian is here at all. Then he speaks up, "You're the Teyrn's wife… is he as they say?"

"Probably." She chuckles, "But if you're implying that he's a legend then I am afraid I must tell you he is only a man, nothing more."

"That's not what I meant… You did choose him yes?"

"Of course, I did."

"That's good…" He puts a hand on her knee and has a serious look in his eyes, "Celia, I'd like to extend my services to you."

"Why?"

"I have heard… and seen some things around the palace. You are a dear friend of mine, and I would hate to discover these things to be true. But for you-"

"Thank you, Damian, as much as I appreciate the offer… If these rumors are true, it may be better for my sanity that I don't know."

"I understand… but please consider my offer." She nods, as he continues to speak, "How are things in Gwaren?"

"All is well, somehow."

"Celia." Loghain approaches the two of them, Maric not far behind. Her husband eyes Damian with a gaze of pure venom, Damian seems humored by it as he stands to greet the Teyrn.

"Darling, this is Damian, an old friend of mine. Damian, my husband."

"A pleasure." Damian holds out his hand to the Teyrn, who in turn slowly raises a hand to meet his. "You take care of my dear Celia, you hear me?"

"I am not your anything." She chuckles as Damian turns back to her, that charming smile plain as day.

"That's what you think old girl."

"Damian." Celia laughs as he leans down to kiss her cheek before departing.

"Who was that Celia?" Loghain asks not an air of humor in his tone.

"Just an old friend dear." She says still smiling with the hope that Loghain will drop the subject. Obviously, it was a futile hope.

"Who is he? And what is he doing here?"

"Come and sit." She sighs, as Maric walks up behind her husband. Loghain seems reluctant to do as she's bid, but eventually complies. "Do you remember what I told you? About the man who took me?"

"He's-"

"The man who killed him." She says before Loghain's mind can wander to dangerous places. "I owe Damian my life."

"So, what is he doing here?" Maric asks, to which Celia fails to decide if she should reveal him. Damian is a crow, his talent lies in his ability to melt into any crowd and look as though he belongs there. To her eyes he is long gone, and perhaps that is for the best.

"He's a crow." She admits once the silence has grown too long for her to not give an answer.

"A crow? Here?" Maric suddenly looks worried.

"Oh he's not here to kill anyone, he doesn't do that kind of work." She says quickly.

"But you just said-"

"He made an exception for me." Celia explains. "You see he was only supposed to watch the situation in Gwaren and report back to the crows about the status of the war. Apparently, his excuse back to Antiva was something to the effect of, 'he just needed killing' and that was that."

The two men pass a skeptical gaze between each other before Loghain takes his wife's hand. "I think I should take you home for the night, dear."

"I'm fine, Loghain, we've hardly been here an hour you should enjoy yourself." She says an annoyed edge in her tone.

"I agree with your husband Celia, it will be a long day tomorrow and you don't want to be exerting yourself so much." Maric folds his arms as if he's also made up his mind about the situation.

"You told him about the incident during our travels, didn't you?" Celia shakes her head as she looks towards her husband.

"I did, and Bryce agrees with us as well, that you should be home resting."

"Rest was what got me into trouble later on, if you recall." She reminds him gently.

"Yes, but tomorrow will be different and you are as much aware of that as I am." He argues, clearly not willing to budge on this particular topic, though there remains a soft hush to his tone.

She sighs, "Help me up." As if she has to ask, as he's already guiding her to her feet. "I am sorry to be leaving so soon, Maric."

"Perish the thought, you've nothing to apologize for, from my understanding creating a new life is quite the challenge."

Celia nods as Loghain leads her out of the palace, dark has just barely cloaked Denerim. She isn't sure if she should be upset at their leaving so soon, or relieved that she won't have to face anyone else for the night. Her husband holds her hand the entire ride home, but says nothing at all.

"Are you alright, Loghain?" She asks once they're alone in their chambers.

"I'm just fine, Celia, you're the one I'm concerned for."

"For no reason." She reminds him, gently taking his face in her hands and kissing him sweetly. He's the one to pull back, placing both of his hands on her enlarged middle and sighs as he places his head in the crook of her neck.

"I worry for you and the baby so much."

"You don't have to, we made it to Denerim, the rest will follow suit." She doesn't add that whatever happens next, it is out of his hands. Doesn't divulge her fears of labor with him, and keeps her new fears within as well. As much as she hates the notion, Damian's warning has her curious in all the wrong ways.

The Landsmeet passes without incident, Celia is up early and the day is far too long. She is grateful that her husband had convinced her to leave the previous night's festivities early. When the whole ordeal is over and the couple gets back in their carriage she falls asleep during the ten minutes it takes for them to reach the estate.

Loghain wakes her tenderly before coaxing her out of the carriage and all but carrying her to their chambers. She smiles through her tiredness at him and tells him she loves him.

"Are you feeling alright dear?"

"I am, just tired."

"You should be in bed." He tells her.

"Will you spend the day with me tomorrow?" She asks, "The baby is coming any day now, and who knows when we'll have time together again. Besides, I miss you terribly when you're gone."

He smiles at her, a gentle loving kind of gaze, "Of course." Before kissing her and once again insisting she get to bed. She complies watching her husband move about the room until she can't keep her eyes open any longer.

When she wakes in the morning, her husband is nowhere to be found, she asks Master Gavrial after him, but is met with a weak, "He left without much ceremony a few hours ago." Celia tries to convince herself that this is of no consequence, that he's merely gone to speak with Maric because of some urgent issue. Though, she finds it hard to believe that anything would come up so desperately just after the Landsmeet. And if it was urgent, she's shocked he didn't at least leave her a message, she feels silly for being so upset by her husband's absence.

It's not until late in the afternoon and she's still heard no word that she starts to worry. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she asks for a carriage to be prepared and readies herself to head out. She goes to the palace hoping that at the very least Ferelden is not on the brink of war.

When she arrives, the foreman is shocked by her sudden appearance, stumbling over his words as he tries to ask if she wishes to be presented to the King. Denying him she then asks where Maric is, assuming she'll find her husband with him. After being informed of the location of the king's study she takes herself there.

After a quick knock she hears Maric call her in, and his surprise is plain as day when she walks in. "Celia, what are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

"I am merely looking for my husband, he's been out of the estate all day without a word of where he is."

"Oh." He chuckles, standing up from his work. "Well, as you can see, Loghain isn't here."

For some reason she doesn't believe him, "I can see that."

"Would you sit down? It's been particularly cold as of late and I'd hate for you to catch a chill because of Loghain's poor communication skills."

"It's refreshing actually to be out and about, but thank you for the offer." She bites her lip before asking, "You've no idea where he could be?"

"He might've gone to see Bryce, as you heard yesterday there's been some trade disputes between the Banns." That's a lie, plain as day, Bryce had told her just the day previous that he was leaving for Highever as soon as the Landsmeet concluded.

"Oh, perhaps I should go to his estate then."

"Or simply send word to the estate, you really shouldn't be traveling about like this in your condition."

"I will consider it, thank you for your time." She says backing out of the room into the hall. With the door closed behind her she takes in a deep breath; out of the corner of her eye she spots a quick flash of movement. Startled she turns toward it, only to see a fading figure, but as he turns the corner, she recognizes his features.

Following a safe distance behind she finds herself weaving through the intricate web of halls, up stairs she'd never know of were it not for the bird she follows. Then she gets a sinking feeling in her gut as she realizes where she is, from the look of the lavish furniture and scattered paintings the answer is clear.

There's a door slightly ajar at the end of the corridor and the world falls to silence around her. The fluttering of her heart turns painful as she inches ever closer, trying to keep her footsteps light. Breathing as deeply as she can, she peers into the door, and what she sees makes her feel numb.

Her husband naked from the waist up kissing the queen aggressively, holding her with a reverence, Celia feels out in the hall. Rowan's clothing practically dissolving off of her body, as the beautiful, dark, sad queen lets out a laugh. The kind that sounds anything but hallow, and makes Celia feel physically ill.

"You've no idea how much I miss you."

"I think I do know." He returns the laughter, kissing her again.

"Show me."

Celia can't keep watching her husband lavish and devour another woman. So she steps back and feels the strong chest of her dear friend. Damian reaches forward and closes the door without a sound.

"I-… I'm such an idiot."

"No my dear, that falls to your husband, though I use the term lightly." He says, arms wrapping around her shoulders. Something inside of her says she should cry, weep before this loss, and the other part begs to ask what she was expecting. Was she truly so blind as to believe Loghain could only love her? When he had known the love of the most powerful woman in Ferelden?

She cannot bring herself to cry, though a hard knot remains tied up in her throat as she turns into Damian's arms. She breaths him in and misses the smell of the sea on him, when they had met he'd been posing as a dock hand. Sea water and hard work, the two things she'd come to associate with him, and now he holds an empty vessel of a woman trying to find the sense in the world.

"When do I kill him?" He asks, voice soft above her head.

"You don't…" She says and feels frightened by the amount of defeat in her voice, "That's not what you're here to do, and I must… I must think."

"When you're done with that nonsense, I will be at your call." He kisses the top of her head before disappearing down the hall he'd brought her to.

Still unable to process what she's seen, her hands fall to the babe within her, does any child deserve a father like this? Or a mother so weak afterwards she's no clue what to do?

Celia looks around the corridor until her eyes fall on none other than King Maric himself, eyes sad and sorry. She walks toward him and in a hushed tone says, "I think we should speak in private."

He opens his mouth to speak, but decides against doing so, instead leading her down to an informal sitting room. Where they sit in silence for far too long, Celia still unable to bring herself to tears, though she feels she should; and Maric covering his mouth trying to decipher how to go about this conversation.

"You knew about this." She says, voice plain and monotone, yet somehow indignant.

"Yes." He says softly.

"And you allow it."

"I do. Though I wish I did not have to do so."

"You don't have to do so." Celia says, "You could put a stop to it."

"I-… I could not do that to them. It's all my fault that any of this has happened."

"So, tell me why I'm to pay the price for your transgression."

"You were never supposed to find out." Maric tells her, "Which I know does not excuse this."

"No. It doesn't, I don't care how you word it, Maric, it's adultery all the same."

He seems to cringe at the word, but he finally is able to meet her eyes. "If I hadn't gone and made an idiot of myself… perhaps none of this would have happened."

"I do not pretend to know your past Maric, but I'm afraid that does not justify the present." Her voice is whittling down, the edge to her tone growing steadily.

"I was the first to commit adultery Celia… So, Rowan took to Loghain's side and I cannot blame her for doing so, he is a greater man than I."

"Bullshit. You were unwed at the time."

"But we were promised to one another, if that is not cruel I know not what is."

"So what then? Am I just a casualty in this game the three of you are playing?" She feels all of her emotions fighting to come out, rage, sorrow, jealousy, insecurity, and anguish. All of these emotions cancel the other out and she is able to retain her composure.

"He never wanted to hurt you, he loves you more than this life."

"I can't exactly believe you." She says, hands gripping the fabric of her dress.

"I know, he made a mistake-"

"How long has he been making the same 'mistake' Maric?" Her gaze is livid and she sees the proud king retreat into himself.

"I am so sorry." He whispers, so small she almost doesn't catch it.

"I've been a scapegoat for three years now, perfect." She rolls her eyes, disbelief and also the lack there of. "And you allow this to happen, in your own home. Your best friend and your wife."

"I keep thinking that since it's my fault that they have to be separated… I should allow them some semblance of it. This has nothing to do with you, Celia, none of it these sins are not your fault."

Celia has never hated words more, never felt so unimportant. "You expect me to find comfort in that? That my husband cannot find his happiness in our marriage? That he must turn to other means? Does he also bed common whores? That would hurt less than this."

"I cannot express how sorry I am."

"And yet you remain idle, you do nothing."

"I can't."

"You absolutely can."

"Who would I be then? I would be no worse than the hypocrisy of the Orlesians."

"At least they admitted it. You are content to act as a coward, hiding away from your sins and allowing them to continue instead of seeking repentance. And I don't pretend to know the answer, but damnit Maric there has to be another way." Her composure is slipping away, and she can hardly bear the weight of all that has transpired. The sky is falling and Celia isn't certain she can hold up the heavens alone.

"If I knew one I would have taken it, this hurts me too. But I am not perfect."

"None of us are, but at the very least some of us fucking try." He closes his eyes at the curse shying away from the Teyrna as if he's no defense against her. Not even a shred of clothing to hide behind, and she hates him. She cannot spend another second in his presence.

"I have to go." She says tentatively standing, reluctantly taking Maric's hand for help when the task becomes too arduous.

"I will never be worthy of your forgiveness. I pray that you can understand at least a third of how sorry I am, Celia." He says, voice drenched in sorrow.

"It is not your apology I need nor seek, your majesty. I believe that repentance lies not in you." She takes her hand from his and leaves the palace. She doesn't remember arriving back at the estate, but she is completely aware as she heads to her own chambers. The scarcely used space, dark and lifeless, feels almost welcoming.

It is here she falls to pieces, a hurricane of emotion wiping her out entirely, she can hardly breathe. She is shaking and hot, every inch a mad woman, but she deserves this. After all she has given up, she deserves this moment of devastation; the babe within her writhes and kicks as if it too has been devastated.

Even on the day she was certain death had come for her she did not feel so much anguish, nor did she feel so many emotions all at once. The most prevalent of all?  _How did you ever believe that he loved you? How could you be as stupid as that? To believe that love is pure as fairy stories? That your marriage would be free of sin?_

Darkness falls on the city and thus, Celia takes herself to bed, there is not enough water left inside of her body to continue pouring out tears. She lays in bed and runs her hands along the curve of her stomach. The baby still moves, lighter kicks against the warmth of its mother's palm, the only comfort she's felt all day.

The door opens, Celia feigns sleep as Loghain enters her room like a phantom. She feels a kiss on her forehead, one hand on her neck the other stroking her hair back.

"I am so sorry, my love." His voice is thick and heavy as he speaks, each word languid and desperate. "I never wanted to hurt you… I will spend the rest of my life trying to atone for this, Celia. You deserve the world, and I-… I'm so sorry." She feels tears fall on her cheeks, but does not move nor alert him to her current state. She will not face him, cannot face him, for she does not know what will happen should she do so.

He puts his hand over their child the longer he speaks, "I'll do better little one, for you and your mother I will do better."

His presence remains for so long that she falls asleep before he is gone from her side. Though she does wake up alone, and she can't help but see the irony of it all, especially as she feels a swell of pain pass through her body. At first she thinks nothing of it, knows that later in pregnancy it is common to feel surges that are not labor.

It's not until she's up and about for the day, that she realizes the pain continues to come back, her body full of something akin to fire. And she isn't sure what to do, as she stands in the library paralyzed with fear holding onto the shelf to keep the panic back. Now is not the time to bring a baby into the world, she can't imagine the idea when she is still reeling from the previous day.

For better or worse she is not alone for long, Loghain's voice pierces the veil of terror.

"Celia, dear?" She turns towards him, narrowing her eyes as she notices Rowan and Maric just behind him. After it becomes apparent that she'll not be saying anything he speaks again, "Rowan wishes to speak with you."

"Not yourself?" Celia asks, her voice low.

"She insisted she speak with you." He looks at her sadly, eyes unable to meet hers. She does not agree to speak to the queen but before she knows what's happening the two women are left alone with one another.

"Hello, Celia." Rowan's voice is as dark as ever, and the anguish behind her eyes is undeniable. Part of her wants to snap at the queen not to use her name, to rip her apart bit by bit. But she doesn't do anything of the sort, she stays quiet and observing, the pain in her stomach slowly ebbing away enough that she can finally stand upright instead of hunched.

"Rowan."

The queen closes her eyes and shakes her head, "I'll just come out and say it Celia, I know I do not deserve your forgiveness but I am wholeheartedly sorry."

"I do not want to hear apologies from you." Celia responds.

"I know, and I do not deserve to be heard."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because a part of me hopes that we can come to see each other a bit clearer."

Celia has to fight from rolling her eyes, "I doubt that's possible."

"Is it so much of a sin that we love the same man?"

"Stop it." Celia snaps, "I will not listen to you profess your love for my husband."

"It does not matter if I profess to you or the Maker, it remains true." Rowan steps closer and Celia feels her body tense at the movement.

"Then just admit you're here for no other reason than to feel self-righteous, as that is the only way I can imagine you would think it appropriate to say such things."

"There is no point in my pandering to your feelings, if we are to see eye to eye the truth must be laid bare." Rowan says, closing her eyes as if she does not believe the words her mouth is speaking.

"Have I not made it clear that I do not care to see eye to eye with you?" Celia asks.

"Please, hear me."

"I have no reason to, I know my place now and it was never to be a loving wife. Only to be loyal and silent."

"But that isn't true." Rowan huffs, "Loghain does love you-"

"This is not how you treat the ones you love, though I can see how you are mistaken." Celia watches embarrassment flush Rowans face, and she does not stop there. "But among the people you serve, they value one another's integrity, and marriage is considered a sacred institution."

"I was wrong Celia, I know that."

"And yet you continue to want me to see your side of this."

"Because I wish to be understood."

"I do understand." Celia sighs, though the debate remains heated. "I understand that you love my husband and that he you."

"He-"

Celia raises her voice, "I understand that I am nothing more than a means to an end and I know that this thing I've become a part of is all too content to leave me as a casualty."

"It kills him how much he loves you!" Rowan bites back, eyes seething as she stares down the Teyrna. "He doesn't know how to deal with that kind of love."

"Then why doesn't he say this? To my face? Why must you be his messenger?"

"Because he's an idiot." Rowan shakes her head exasperated, "He isn't a man of words, he's a man of action."

"And my how his actions have spoken. I thought I knew love in him but I was sorely mistaken."

"Have you learned nothing? It is hardly enough to know love, what has knowing done for anyone? We are only meant to play the part of the fool, the idiot who thinks they're somehow special. There is no such thing as true love. The only truth I have ever found, is that the pain of knowing love is everlasting." Rowan's eyes land on Celia's stomach, all anger fades and she is left with regret. "I love two men equally, in the very same way. Do not doubt that I love my husband more than life itself, but I hold your Loghain just as dearly. I am sorry Celia, love has made us all weak. Love has taken and taken, and when that was not enough it took even more."

Celia tries to bite back her tears, blames the pregnancy, anything other than heart break. "I pity and envy you, to know love as you do-"

"He loves you, I promise, Loghain would have never lied about that. I… in your childhood, you must have known a love that you still hold dear." The queen continues to close in on her, the distance between them thinning rapidly.

Celia shakes her head, "No, I don't."

Rowan now cries at her, "Please hear my apology sincerely. My intentions were not pure, nor just but you deserve to hear them! I won't take this grief and guilt to my grave when I know I can do something about it."

Celia takes in a deep breath, rage simmering just beneath the surface. "Do not speak to me of death… You've a lifetime of virtues left in the past, perhaps sins must catch up eventually."

"I-… What?"

"I'm no war hero, Rowan… I am just a cabinet maker's daughter, I didn't fight with anything but my ill-timed rebellion and poorly placed words. Yet you fought and won a war, saved people like me and became their queen. I yelled at the wrong man and cowered away from war afterwards. What I'm saying is, one of us deserves him, and it isn't me."

"No, you're wrong." Rowan snaps, for a groveling woman she has a terrible bite. Celia closes her eyes and grasps at her ears, the noise too loud, the world too heavy. "You committed no sin, you are the victim!"

"Don't tell me what I am!" Celia snaps back, tears like a rain storm pounding against pavement. "I… I am a woman trying desperately to hate her husband and his adulterous bitch, but I can't! And maybe it's because I feel as though the burden of this is mine to bear, or perhaps because I am the only one in this who has done no great deed. For one reason or another, the Maker planned this and I can't even begin to imagine why."

The two women stare one another down for just a moment before Celia begins to walk past the queen.

"Celia, please." Rowan says desperately.

"For what it's worth, I feel incredibly sorry for you." Celia says softly, "That with all that you have, you hold very little of it dear, and you still wish for more. That you have so much and cannot find happiness in any of it. I will pray tonight and every night, that you find your truth someday, Rowan, and I hope above all else that when you find it… Perhaps you'll finally be at peace."

As the words come out of her mouth, a contraction blooms in her back spreading all throughout her body. There's hardly any preamble to it either, immediate and demanding, more so than the previous pains she'd been experiencing. She grasps at the bookshelf beside her, trying to hold herself steady even as the pulsating only becomes greater.

"Celia? Are you alright?" Rowan asks, moving to close the distance between them. She hates the feeling of the queen's hands on her.

"I am." Celia says as evenly as possible.

"Andraste's ass, Celia, you're in labor!?" Rowan's voice is frightened at the thought. The Teyrna would respond if she knew how, in her state she doesn't feel as though lying will do much of anything.

Given that the child is coming whether or not she says so, all she responds with is, "I am, yes."

"I-… Hold on, alright?" Rowan's hands leave Celia, and as soon as the queen's presence is gone from her, she allows herself to relax. Focusing her energy on the tightness and the pain, breath falling out of her body in a heavy tumble.

"Darling? Are you alright?" Loghain's voice is too loud in her ears, he is just as breathless as she feels, he tries to take her hands in his.

"Don't touch me." She says.

"We should get you to your chambers." He says not heeding her words, still trying to bring her into his arms. She puts up enough resistance to dissuade him from pressing her, until the contraction passes and she is able to regain her bearings.

When she finally meets his gaze there are so many dark emotions within him she cannot possibly begin to describe it. He is scared, worried, and beyond desperate, she feels a wave of guilt roll around inside of her at the sight. Maker's breath he's a wreck, and he isn't even the one in labor.

Loghain does not ask her if she's alright, or ready to move; instead he leads her from the library, Rowen and Maric not far behind. Embarrassment floods Celia's sense but only for a moment, this is not her fault, their presence will not sway her.

Desperation fills her in every conceivable way, she wants to be in control, wants to shove her husband away, wants to run all the way back home. Never in her life has she ever felt so trapped, so dictated by everything around her; all she wants to do is scream. Yet part of her wants to hold it all inside, so that no soul can see the ugly emotions she cannot escape.

She's expecting Loghain to leave her alone, men are not banned from the birthing chambers, yet from her understanding, men especially nobles steer clear of such things. But of course, her husband remains by her side, were she not furious with him she might be grateful for the gesture. In another time this would be his worry, him not wanting her to feel alone.

His mistress remains as well, the queen bustles around the room, as if she's a midwife. Although the longer she does this, Celia realizes it's merely her having no idea what to do. The queen floating about the room, fluffing pillows and smoothing sheets, nervous habits, out of a desperation Celia isn't certain she's ever experienced.

The pains return to her in an unwelcome sweep, so fast and demanding she feels herself collapsing within, like the child wants to take as much of her with it as physically possible. Every place Loghain touches prickles with pain as if his touch is burning everything in its path.

The midwife takes a long while to arrive, hours upon hours until the sun is browning in the sky. The entire time is spent in silence; Rowan moving about the room, Maric stuck by the door, looking concerned and sad. Then Loghain, who won't stop touching her, breath hot on her skin, and all she wants is distance. To be as far away from these people and this place as possible.

When the midwife does finally walk into the room, Loghain is on the older woman in an instant.

"What took you so long?" He demands hotly.

"Loghain!" Celia snaps, "Stop it." The midwife moves easily passed the man and smiles softly at the woman in labor.

"Men are defensive of their wives in such a state, lass, don't spend your energy on such trivial things. I've dealt with more than my fair share of riled up husbands." She offers Celia a hand as her heavy foreign accent somehow soothes her just a touch.

"What are you doing?" Loghain asks.

"My job, my lord." She says without even glancing at him, guiding the Teyrna to her feet.

"She's in labor, why are you-"

"Loghain, stop talking." Celia bites down on the last syllable as a contraction hits, she feels the midwife place her hand on the child. A panting breath breaks its way out of her.

"Where does the pain start?" She asks, Rowan and Loghain begin closing in around her, and she hates them so much her face grows hot.

Unable to speak at first she waits until the crest of pain has finally gone away, "Um… My back."

"Sharp pain?"

"It burns." She breathes out, unintentionally resting her head on the midwife's shoulder.

"Alright, just breathe with me." But Celia can tell by the way her stiff cold fingers rub her back that something isn't right, something is wrong.

Loghain has this expression on his face, like he's trying to hold back, but he's never been able to before. "What is it?" He asks.

The midwife glances at him, but Celia can't see it, she gets to her feet and allows the midwife to lead her around the room; once, then twice before another wave of pain sends her stumbling and shaking. She feels Loghain's looming presence, knows he's ready to lift her up in his arms and lay her out of the bed.

Before he can do this she stutters out, "This is better." Even though she's fairly certain that the pain is just as terrible as it was lying down. He pauses at her words, but she still feels his hand reach around to gather her hair.

"Stop touching me." She says harshly and without a second thought.

"You'll feel better with it back." He says.

"I said stop." Her voice devolves into a whimper, and she swears she can feel him deflate at the words.

"Can I speak with you?" He asks the midwife, Rowan's delicate hands tie the rest of Celia's hair back. Celia doesn't move until the midwife does, directing her into Rowan's arms.

"Walk with her, listen to whatever she says." Celia feels a fresh bout of furry over take her as she desperately grips Rowan's arms.

The queen is soft, with cool skin and a tender voice as she says, "It's alright, Celia." Over and over again. Celia can only groan out broken words between the harsh breaths and strangled gasps she takes to keep breathing.

"Has the pain truly come on so quickly?" Rowan asks, curiosity and worry mingled so gracelessly together Celia can only imagine she's asking for herself. The queen has been exposed to so much, but never labor, never pregnancy and the trial of creation.

"Fuck." Is the only word Celia can manage as the pain comes back as quickly as it was gone.

"It's alright-"

"If you don't stop talking I will rip your tongue out." Celia doesn't mean to say it, but as the thought was forming in her mind it came right out.

"Are you certain you want to keep standing? Perhaps you should sit down?" Rowan's voice has a perfect edge of panic that makes Celia physical cringe. Then the tremors start, her whole body shaking and trembling as if every muscle in her body is trying to force the baby out of her.

"Celia? Is everything alright?" Rowan asks, filling up the air when all they should want is silence.

Celia moves in the direction of the bed, but the queen's grip is that of iron. "I'm going to be sick." She says. Seconds before she devolves into retching the queen is gone and back with a basin, Celia has fallen to her knees, gripping the porcelain as she goes. Her body screaming the whole way, blocking out Rowan's alarm and franticness.

"I'm okay." Celia says though she doesn't know why she does so, but she can't stop saying, "I'm okay." Over and over again.

Loghain is back at her side, still speaking with the midwife, but she doesn't hear a word of what he says. She tries not to cry, tries to hold herself together enough to come back to this world. Part of her is so far away she isn't certain she is still alive or if she's halfway to the Maker's side.

"Celia, can you hear me?" Somehow she's in bed, her husband wiping her face clear of sick and sweat.

"I want to die." She says so softly that it's not even a whisper, merely a breath. Once again unable to stop her words from leaving her mind, and the look he gives her is nothing short of desperate.

"You'll be alright, Celia, the midwife says you're close and-and you're just having a difficult delivery."

"Is that all?" She asks, tears streaming down her cheeks as she does, her body refusing to stop trembling. The child within her writhes, eliciting a scream Celia did not intend to let out. Maker be damned, this hurts, everything hurts. Her heart and body, she wants to die, she begs the Maker to let this child kill her as it comes into the world.

His face is on hers and she hates him, more than she has ever hated in her whole life, if she didn't feel incapacitated she would kill him. He's trying to console her but that is impossible, and the two of them know it, but he has to do  _something._

The sun is long gone from the sky, and the night is so frigid there's a blue tint to everything encapsulated in it. Celia tries not to think about how long she's been in labor, how impossibly hot she is while the rest of the world is fighting off the cold. She tries to keep her eyes shut and breathe, so she doesn't have to absorb the scene she's taking part of.

How this must look to the Maker, a woman in labor with her adulterous husband, a midwife, and her husband's mistress by her side. What a laugh he must be having.

The midwife says something unclear, about pushing and part of Celia wants to do so. The other part of her is far too weak to perform such a feat. Loghain wraps his body around her shoulders and sits her up, despite the fact that every muscle in her body screams at the act.

"Baby's almost out, you're almost done." The midwife says encouragingly.

But Celia doesn't feel like she's anywhere near strong enough to deliver a baby, "Help me… Help me." She says voice desperate and terse.

"Push, you're almost done darling." Loghain says voice far away despite his immediate closeness, like even her ears are straining to work.

"Help me." She says once more before her body takes over control, her mouth continues to run off automatically as her body utilizes every last ounce of strength to push the baby out.

She collapses at the sound of the squawking baby, falling back in eminent defeat against her husband's body. Suddenly all of the attention and frantic energy transfers away from herself and onto the baby. Celia is grateful for this, especially when the cold settles across her body for the first time in hours. It's like she can breathe again for the first time in far too long.

Her glazed eyes roll over towards where her husband stands, over the washing basin with the queen. She looks impossibly sad with the crying baby in her arms, and even though Celia wants to be angry she can't bring herself to be. Instead she feels protectiveness, the moment she sees the babe in Rowan's arms.

So pronounced is that feeling, she says, "Give me my baby." As soon as she's able to find her voice again.

Loghain has the child, and he looks at his wife so desperately she's surprised he actually speaks. "You need to rest."

"Let me hold my baby." She says again, hoping the desperation she feels doesn't infiltrate her tone. And she hates that he has to help her hold the babe, she's so weak.

"It's a girl, Celia." Loghain says, watching her hold the baby. Their little girl looks so much like her she could cry, tufts of blonde hair and every inch the shape of her. The babe is the mirror image of her mother, and Celia loves her instantly.

Part of her wonders if this is why Rowan looks so devastated, perhaps she hoped that she and Loghain could pretend for just a minute that their baby was theirs. But there is no denying that the baby is Celia's.

"Darling?"

"I love her." Celia says softly.

"I do too, I love you and our little girl."

How long these words will be enough she isn't certain, but for now they are, and she melts into the moment. Reveling in all that this could be, were it not for the devastation waiting in the wings.


	4. Act 4

**Act 4: The part of the story where she has it all figured out.**

Celia takes far longer to recover than she would like, the labor was intense and left her body fragile for weeks. The midwife had informed her that she'd had a back labor, likely a result of her being bedridden for a sizable percentage of her pregnancy. However, she'd managed to remain intact, the recovery would mostly be that of her body returning to normal.

Loghain became her most attentive attendant in those following weeks, the man had seen her decimated. Their daughter's first feeding nearly drained all of the life out of Celia, he had to hold both his wife and the baby upright in order to do so. As the days passed, he let a softness finally emerge, and he has since fallen absolutely in love with their baby girl.

"We need to give her a name." Celia says one morning, still in bed as she watches Loghain coo at the little one.

"Is it too soon?" He asks.

"I thought we weren't going to lose her." Celia retaliates, the two share a look and he practically breaks under her gaze.

"I didn't think your labor would be so intense." He says, "I'm more aware of the dangers now, and I'd like to wait."

"I like Anora." Celia says, not paying him any heed, "It's a beautiful name and she's worthy of it."

He gives a tight smile and promises. "If she lives to her sixth month, we can call her Anora."

Celia tries not to be annoyed by his words, and instead lets her eyes fall to the child in his arms. It is easier to look at the man when he's got the baby in his arms. This way at the very least she can remember that he's yet to make a mess of fatherhood.

They stay in Denerim well into the spring despite Celia insisting she'd prefer to leave, and that yes, she's feeling much better. Maric sees them off, he has come every so often to visit since Anora's birth, for obvious reasons the queen chooses to stay behind during these visits. The day of their departure is warm and bordering on summerlike discomfort, it's Anora's first time outside and she squirms in her mother's arms at the bright sun.

Celia spends the entirety of the trip back to Gwaren tending to her daughter, not a moment spared towards her husband. He seems immensely bothered by the fact that she is deliberately ignoring him, yet he does nothing to rectify the issue. Perhaps he's finally returning to his senses, if he ever had any at all.

The ultimate shock comes when they arrive in Gwaren, her family is waiting outside of the castle for them, and Celia feels a type of anxiety swell inside of her at the sight. They had of course done this previously, when she had first returned from Denerim; then she had been impossibly grateful for the sure comfort of her family surrounding her once more. Now she hesitates as the carriage halts, but only for a moment before looking at her daughter and filling with pride. This is her family's first grandchild, their first niece, they should be thrilled no matter what the circumstance.

Loghain is out of the carriage in a hurry before helping his wife climb out after him. She is cautious at first before she feels the gazes of her family fall on the baby in her arms, and she smiles at them despite herself.

Her father is the first to approach, puts one large hand on Anora's head and chuckles. "Look at that… a beautiful baby if I've ever seen one." He takes Celia's head and kisses her hairline. She starts passing the baby to her father, and soon Katherine and her mother are by her side, absolutely smitten with her.

There are a few blissful moments of gentle congratulations and excitement, Katherine gripping Celia's shoulders and Martha cooing at her first grandchild. However, no one is surprised at how quickly that joy falls away, when Dillion speaks up.

"So, was your own home not good enough to birth your child." Celia sighs at her brother but expects the blow nevertheless.

"Dillion hush your mouth." Martha says without sparing him a glance, as the baby is passed into her arms.

"What are we to expect from the man who detests his own Teryn?" Matthias says.

"She came with me because it was the best thing for her." Loghain says in response.

"Keeping her away from her family is the best thing for you, indeed." Celia feels Katherine's hands grasp at her shoulders as Matthias says this. She swears there comes a reprimand from her sister-in-law, but Celia's decided that she isn't going to listen any further. Instead turning her attention to her husband, Loghain is not about to back down against her brother, he looks severe and ready to put up arms against him.

There's an exchange too heated for Celia to follow, she merely listens to the rising matching tones.

Celia barks at her husband in sudden burst of anger. "Loghain, you will not speak to him like that."

He turns to her sharply, "I will not let him speak ill of you."

"Is he speaking ill of myself or of you? Do not hide your insecurity behind the false protection of your wife, when I need none."

"Go inside, Celia."

"You'll not be telling me what to do." She retorts sharply.

The couple stares one another down, and it isn't until Martha passes Anora back into Celia's arms that they break eye contact. Loghain briskly turns and walks inside the castle, Celia does not follow instead she remains with her family.

At first it is the reunion she would have wanted, Katherine declaring she absolutely must keep little Anora forever. Matthias looks nervous at the way his wife holds the baby, and Martha is smitten with her granddaughter. It isn't until Samuel speaks up that Celia even entertains the idea of going inside to confront her husband.

"Celia," he says, "I believe you should go speak with your husband about this… situation." She desperately wants to contest him, wants to give him every single reason why he's wrong; but her brothers begin to do so for her. When she became the woman for whom others speak is beyond her recognition. Instead she stands in silence as her father reminds her brothers that she is a married woman now.

Samuel is the one to force the others to leave, Celia still having not spoken a word, watches as her family walks further and further from the castle. Anora stirs in her mother's arms making little sounds of delight, and Celia isn't sure she's ever felt so trapped in her life.

Rather than going to speak with her husband she decides to introduce Anora to the nursery. Gives her a bath and new clothes, not saying a word as she does these few tasks. She's afraid of what will fall out of her mouth were she to open it.

Loghain walks in just as she's about to lie the babe down for a nap, he's still scowling and she isn't having any of it. "Celia."

"Hold her for a minute." She places the baby in his arms and walks over to the crib to grab a blanket.

"So, you're going to ignore what happened this morning?"

"Yes, actually." She says lifting Anora out of his arms and taking a seat to swaddle her.

"Infuriating woman." He shakes his head.

"I wasn't the one who made an idiot of myself. You do enough of that on your own."

"He was insulting our marriage."

"Like you don't do so by yourself? You certainly treat our marriage as if it's a joke." Her voice is even and exhausted.

He closes his eyes at her words, she takes the moment of blissful silence to kiss her daughter's head and lay her down in her crib. The moment the baby is settled Loghain's hand is on her arm, and he is pulling her towards their bedroom.

She tries at first to wrangle her way out of his grasp but his hand tightens around her arm. She feels limp and powerless as he throws open their bedroom door. Closing it immediately behind them he turns to her, she half expects him to yell at her, what she doesn't expect is the volley of kisses he assaults her with.

She manages to push him off of her, and his body forces the door to shutter in its frame. "What the ever-living fuck is wrong with you?"

He looks at her with eyes so angry she feels them burning in her very soul. "This will be easier than yelling at one another and getting nothing done."

"Maybe if you'd listen every once and a while something would get done." She said, "But why should I even suggest listening to someone like you?"

His gaze turns from liquid steel to solid stone in an instant. "And you're no better."

She laughs at him when the words are out of his mouth. "How? How am I like you in anyway?"

"You know how much alike we are, Celia, do not deny this."

"How could I deny  _you_  anything dear husband? You get everything you could possibly want and still it is not enough."

"You don't know what you're talking about, woman."

"You think I don't? Are you really so blind as to not be able to see what our marriage is? It is me, giving you everything I have, everything I am. And still it is not enough for you."

"Don't say that, you're wrong and you know it." He says gripping her shoulders desperation and fury so thoroughly combined in one they can no longer exist without the other.

"Don't you see what you've made me? I am nothing without you, yet you are content to have dalliances with other women-"

"Celia-"

"And live your damned life however you so please. How much of a fool have you made me Loghain!?"

He tries to kiss her again but she refuses once more, a growl rises in his throat. "I would never lie with anyone I did not treasure-"

"And if I am so treasured by you, I must see the wrath your acquaintances endure!"

"Shut up and let me speak!" She does not want to, she wants to struggle and writhe against his grasp. Even so he says, "I did not think it was possible for me to love again, when I came here. I have always and will always love Rowan, but that doesn't mean I can't love you."

She looks at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend that he could actually believe the words he's saying. Loghain is not the type of man to just say anything, but she is truly in shock at what he thinks is mending his marriage. So much so that her response is, "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, Celia, I love her. But I love you too."

"Stop-"

"No! You're not listening to me-"

"Do you know how much you hurt me? Not to mention Maric and Rowan herself? Continuing a fantasy that was doomed to end the moment it began?"

"You don't know what we went through together."

"I suppose I don't."

"I still love you, I am happy we're married, I love our daughter."

"Do you have no concept of how you are perceived by others? Do you even care?"

"Why should anyone else matter?"

"Is that what you said to her?" Celia takes a minute to breathe, to reassess the path she is going down but she can't exactly give up now. "Did you tell her you loved her and not to worry about the rest?"

"Damnit woman-"

"Do  _not_ call me woman. I am your wife, whether you like it or not."

"Are you even listening to me? I am proud to call you my wife, but I'm only human, I am allowed to make mistakes."

"Some men die for this very mistake, and if our child didn't need a father, I can't say I wouldn't like to see that."

"You don't mean that." He says viciously, forcing another kiss on her.

"Would you stop that!" She says only able to move her face to the side, his breath still harsh on her cheek.

"Fuck me Celia, what is it going to take for you to forgive me?"

"Time!" She shouts, an answer he can hopefully swallow enough to release her, and he does. "Just… give me time."

"It's been months, Celia."

"I'm sorry, but you ripped my heart out. I think I'm entitled to something, and all I am asking for is time." The two of them stare at one another, neither really certain of the outcome they want from this exchange. Still neither willing to relent, until Celia sighs, "Please."

"Alright."

Part of Celia wishes she could burry herself into his chest, hide away from the pain in his embrace. But she knows that's not possible, she hasn't let him touch her since Anora's birth, and with what she's just asked of him it would render her practically insane.

He lets her go, finally allowing her exit, and from that moment she takes up her silence once more. He grows impatient, but does keep his distance, even when she elects to sleep in her own quarters. She is surprised, nearly shocked really, by the amount of restrain he shows, whether or not that is a good thing she isn't certain.

Before either of them knows it, it's nearly time for him to return to Denerim, and she hadn't recalled he was even leaving until he mentions it briefly over dinner. She does not know how he wants her to react, part of her is scared that she even wonders such a thing. When did she become the woman who is constantly wondering how her husband will react to any given thing?

When she sees him off, some days later, she watches him shower their daughter in kisses and adoration. Despite everything he does love their daughter, Celia has seen fear behind his eyes from time to time, when he scares himself with how much he loves her. He passes the babe into Celia's arms, and she, in response, leans up to kiss his cheek.

Both of them are shocked at the contact, but Celia remains firm in her action. "Come home soon." She says gently, stepping back from him. He looks at her, forlorn and desperate, but he merely nods.

"Say bye-bye to your father, darling." Celia says bouncing her daughter, though the child does not acknowledge her mother, aside from a loll of the head.

He leaves without a word, and Celia feels a sudden relief at his parting. She takes her baby girl inside and lives her life as if nothing is happening. But even nothing can be a heavy weight to bear alone, so yes, she would admit to missing her husband. Even if it's not his absence that irks her so much as what he's doing now left to his own devices.

Why should she care anyway? The king will ensure that not a single soul will ever know of the infidelity he and his bride so readily submit themselves to.

Loghain returns more swiftly than Celia would have expected, his two-month absence feels like mere moments of harrowing solitude.

But he smiles like a new man, lifting his daughter high above his head and kissing her rosy cheeks with vigor. Part of Celia hates that he has the makings of a good father, hates that Anora may too succumb to his wiles.

"And of course, we can't neglect your mother." He chuckles, leaning over to kiss his wife. Celia accepts the gesture despite her unease. She has found herself caught in the middle of her own life; between yearning for the love of a man who does not deserve love, and a hate that feels very nearly hollow.

She isn't totally certain how they end up abed that night, not even totally certain the act happens at all. Yet there they are, lying in one another's arm him trailing kisses up and down the lengths of her neck. Vaguely aware of the stinging soreness and leaking between her legs, she means to let out a breath but her body has other plans.

"You make me feel like I'm nothing." She says, in the darkness, the room suddenly feels as cold as the new year just outside their window.

His gaze intensifies. "No Celia, don't, you're the mother of my child." He takes to kissing her again as if to fill her up with something. And he does fill her up with something, something she isn't certain how to name. Maker is she tired of being uncertain.

How is she supposed to respond? That she fears this is all she has become? That this is all she will ever be? The mother of this man's child and no more? That she will have lost all that she fought so long for?

His skin still lights a fire inside of her, as empty as she feels something always stirs at his touch, once she would have called it love. Now she doesn't know, but she hopes it isn't love; if it is love she's more confused than she once thought.

For now, she settles into him, allows the warmth of his skin and calloused touch bring her closure. A silent resolve to give him as many parts of her she can still bear to lose, so that perhaps they can fall in love again.

If he ever loved her to begin with. She realizes just how messy and callous love can be, how empty and demanding it is to have a man like Loghain be her husband.

"Celia?" He asks, fingers knotted in her hair.

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I know."  _You think so. What do we really know?_

"You and Anora are my world."

"I know."  _You've convinced yourself at least._

"I will spend the rest of our lives trying to deserve you." And it is this moment that leaves her so aching for silence that she says the only thing that will satisfy him.

"I'm yours."

As much as she loathes to call this life coping, that is what she names the feeling. Going day to day, giving herself away to her husband with every kiss and word she parts with. And for a while she is content to do so.

Anora grows into a beautiful smart girl, Celia sees flashes of Loghain within their daughter; she wishes that she could ignore these things, but her mind is a ruthless beast.

Just before Anora's third birthday, Loghain receives word that Rowan is with child. He does not speak to Celia on the matter, she finds the letter on his desk after more than a week of his silence. The unease slips out of her and instead finds herself enraged at him.

Typically not one to pry, Celia has half a mind to ignore it all, but she doesn't. So, consumed by his blatant inability to let Rowan go, she swipes the letter and storms up to their bedroom where he is sat dejectedly staring into the fireplace.

Her entrance does not even bother him, except to adjust the book he'd left on his knee, long forgotten by the look of it.

"You're a sick man, you know that?" She says stiffly.

He looks at her, glances at the parchment in her hand and responds, "I know."

"You know." She chuckles heavily. "Of course, you do… You have so little regard for anything else in the world… how foolish of me to assume you remained ignorant to this too."

"I don't want to feel this way."

"Neither do I, but we hardly have any choice as it were."

"Celia, please…"

"What more could you possibly want from me?"

"How many times must I say it? I am so sorry, I wish… I wish none of this had ever happened, but this is my reality, love."

He's made no move towards her, not even a change in inflection, so Celia moves towards the fireplace and burns the missive. She watches the paper curl with the flame, the feeling of pure anguish slipping in between the two of them. The crackling of the paper coupled with a heavy sigh from Loghain makes her feel useless. But that feeling is no longer new.

"I will always regret what I've done, Celia." He says the words with such dejected passion that Celia wonder's if he even knows he's speaking. She doesn't know how to forgive him anymore, she's taken to having the words drown out her fears.

And she is afraid, mostly of this life she is living, and knowing that this is a result of her own choices. She did this to herself, married the only man in the world who does not understand the concept of his own fault.

_Fuck it_ , she thinks bitterly as she turns to face Loghain, takes in his tiredness and withered appearance. She swallows her indifference and approaches him, the man who makes her weak in all of the worst ways.

And as always, she falls to her knees before him, "This isn't who you are."

"How would you know?" He does not meet her gaze, so she forces him to, hands on either side of his face.

"Because we are two sides of the same coin, passionate and brutal. Yet when we fall, we are truly one in the same. You cannot bring yourself to give up Rowan, and I cannot bring myself to give you up. Try as I might."

He has tears in his eyes now, a sight that once may have been staggering; but not to Celia, not anymore.

"You are my husband, we swore before the Maker and his bride… many things and some of which we haven't kept. I don't always have to love you, but I am always with you, Loghain… Darling. I can resent you all I want, but for some reason I can't let you go."

He slides down to meet her eyes, and on his knees for the first time he truly begs for her forgiveness. Pushes her up with his body and kisses her; it feels like he is stealing the life from her body, but she gives it away so willingly there is no difference between them.

"I am unworthy of you." He says, mouth pressed so firmly to her neck she wonders how he can breathe.

"How will you rectify that?" She asks, the blush and heat in her face must be palpable on his tongue as he chuckles against her. He doesn't say anything, merely guides her to the floor and makes love to her there; for the first time since this mess began, she feels like this is love.

Maybe in this perfect moment all can be forgiven, they cry and moan and kiss, until the rest of the world is obsolete. Something new is now theirs, formed between the touch of his hand and the silk of her hair. There is still a sadness between them, something like grief hanging over their heads, but it is enough that their love rests on their shoulders.

Rowan delivers a son, Calian is his name and he will marry Anora. Celia isn't certain how to feel about this and so she elects to ignore it for now. Loghain and Celia don't speak of it after the initial conversation, and she's content to leave it that way.

Loghain takes Anora with him to Denerim for Calian's coronation, and she is terribly lonely while they are away. Even with Dillion getting married, Katherine having a child of her own, and the general workload of running a Teryn. She finds time to be alone, and she counts the days it takes for her husband to come back to her.

Part of her knows that trips to Denerim will become regular occurrences for Anora, but three seems a little young to start such a practice. Loghain disagrees, reminds Celia that their daughter will marry the prince and become a queen; she must be groomed and trained in Denerim for such a task.

She wonders when Loghain became a man who cares about grooming or pedigree, but she concedes to his wishes. Afraid he might put the pieces together of her true fear; the fear that maybe he's doing this to be closer to Rowan. The darkest part of her wonders whose child Calian is, but refrains from asking the question.

Her worries are quelled in the worst possible way, when Rowan dies before Calian's second birthday. Celia goes to Denerim with her husband and daughter, despite everything she worries for the fate of her country as anyone else would.

Loghain has a bite to his tone that makes Celia feel as though nothing has changed; he has always been an intense man, she isn't surprised by the way his grief weaves itself.

Denerim is uncomfortably hot in the summer, Celia would go as far to say it's nearly grotesque. Not just the weather, but the stench of city and… Well she'd admit her bias, that this city only harbors terrible memories. But that girl, the one she was when she'd first come to Denerim, is long gone; grown into someone nearly unrecognizable.

"We're going to the palace, go get washed up, Anora." Loghain says the moment they've arrived; the little girl runs into the arms of her governess once she is released.

"Will you be back tonight?" Celia asks him.

"You're coming too." He says.

"Are you certain you want me to?" She asks.

"Don't question my decisions Celia." He responds harshly.

"Watch your temper, I was merely uncertain if this is an occasion you would want my presence, after everything that has happened."

"I don't need a reminder."

"Then what do you need?" She retaliates, feeling a sense of challenge rise inside of her. He glares at her with such a ferocity, she wonders if the heat in the city merely radiates off of him. "Well?"

"Do not test me this trip, Celia."

"Then perhaps you should get a hold of yourself before you lose your temper in front of someone important."

"Damn you, woman."

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

He very nearly snarls at her, for a second, she wonders what a spectacle they must be; thankfully the staff has retreated back into the estate, leaving only the carriage driver to witness their argument.

"How many times must I remind you that you are my wife-"

"Oh, is that right?" She can't help but jest, he's nearly vicious with her.

"You unreasonable, apprehensive, callous, petty wench."

"So, we've reduced ourselves to name calling now?" She does not rise to his bait in the way he wanted her to and it shows all over his face. "Do you want to press this further now? Or would you prefer to let your irrationality simmer?"

His silence confirms the latter and so they wait for Anora to return, bouncing into the carriage with a joyful spring in her step. She informs her mother of all the playing she and Calian do around the castle, and Loghain broods all the while.

Their arrival to the palace is met with frantic servants and a very relieved head of house. Apparently, Maric has not come out of the room in which Rowan passed, the staff fear he too may have contracted the illness that took the Queen. Blight, Rowan died of the blight and Celia feels as if the Maker is taunting her.

_You wanted her to die, didn't you? She suffered greatly, she's gone from this world, just as you wanted._

"My ladyship," one of the servants approaches her, "I will take you to see the young prince now. His lordship said you would look after him until…" She smiles courteously and follows the servant, Anora jumping and skipping beside her.

Celia meets the prince and is taken aback by the striking resemblance he holds to Maric. Calian is a charming little toddler, bearing every last one of his teeth and holding out his chubby hands to Anora. The two fair haired children play enough for five children, and Celia tries to keep herself composed for them.

"Mama is gone now Anora," He says at one point so plainly Celia's chest is tight with wonder. "I think she got too tired."

His smile does not falter, so Celia asks him, "Do you miss, your mama, Calian?"

"Not really, I have lots of mama's." He responds, "But you're my favorite mama." He wraps his arms around Celia's waist and chuckles as he does so. Celia wonders if her own daughter will feel so detached from her someday. If Anora will even remember or want to remember her mother.

The sun has been setting for some hours now, Celia decides to read the children a story in the hopes that they'll get to sleep at a decent hour. Anora falls asleep against her mother's shoulder, Calian has climbed into her lap and nestled into her chest.

She takes to playing with the ends of his hair, trying to decipher how she should feel in this moment. There are so many parts of her in so many different directions with so many different feelings she's practically pulled a part. She misses the decisiveness of the old days, when she knew who she was and what she felt. When death meant tragedy, not whatever this feeling inside of her is.

The door opens, Maric and Loghain walk in, the king tries to muster a smile at Celia but can't manage that feat. Instead she guides his son into his arms and watches him crush the boy to his chest.

Loghain takes Anora and holds her just as fiercely, the two of them have a moment without words with their children. Crying and attempting to grasp onto something normal.

Celia stands up, whispers a short blessing to the king and nudges him in the direction of Calian's bed.

"How is he handling this?" Maric asks looking at her from over Calian's head.

"He's taking it well." She nearly whispers.

"Good… That's good." Part of her is stunned to see the king is such a state, not surprised, just taken aback. This is quite possibly the most unreal experience she's had since becoming a noble. To see such a great man so human before her, is both humbling and horrifying.

He says nothing else, just takes his son towards the bed, while Loghain leads her from the room.

The Mac Tir's go home, Anora still sleeping against her father, and Celia more at a loss than ever before.

"When's the funeral?" She asks once they are in their room preparing for bed.

"Tomorrow night." His voice is rough and tired. "I… I owe you an apology for earlier."

"You have called me worse things without such words, take that for what you will." She says, voice so soft that her words could be mistaken for forgiveness. Which is how Loghain takes them by the way he stands to hold her.

"I love you, my patient wife."

"Patient?" She asks.

"Yes." He says, kissing the side of her head, "And many other things."

Celia can't recall a time when she was ever patient with anyone let alone her husband; he starts to advance, hands creeping towards her arms. She can hardly believe he wants to have sex with her at a time like this, while at the same time is completely unsurprised.

She only allows him to bed her out of the partial guilt simmering inside of her; her relief at Rowan's passing forces her into complacency. And she does revel in every breath and touch between them, but that doesn't stamp out her terror.

The funeral is somehow worse than the day previous, every noble from across Ferelden and beyond is in attendance. Celia holds the prince and her daughter close as she watches a nation mourn around her. And it's not that she isn't saddened by the passing of the queen, it is the guilt inside of her that makes her feel so heavy.

Despite everything, Rowan was deserving and good, but no one is all good; Celia has to wonder how different she would feel if she were naïve. Would she be as tearful and disheartened as those around her?

She allows her mind to go blank, surely empty thoughts are much calmer than evil ones. So that night when Maric stays in the Mac Tir estate Celia quietly puts the children to bed and tries to avoid her husband's study.

Around midnight she can no longer help herself, so she approaches the door only halting at the sound of her drunk husband's low chuckle.

"Yes, I remember." He says.

"Those were… not particularly happy times, but they were ours." Maric says, voice full of something like sadness.

"Where did the time go?" Loghain's once light and happy tone goes dark.

Maric lets out a snort, "To our country, to our children."

"And our wives."

"Yes… I suppose you're right about that." After a brief pause Maric speaks again, "Loghain, can I ask you something personal?"

"You usually do without my permission, what's on your mind?"

"Why did you marry Celia?"

She feels now would be an opportune moment to leave, to pretend she never heard a sentence of this conversation. It would be easier in the long run, for her to never know what comes from his mouth next. She does not budge.

"Because… she has a heart of pure lyrium." He says, "It's bewitching and beautiful, more so than it has any right to be. She is meant to be treasured… coveted even, and loving her feels like I'm getting as close to magic as I will come without dying by its hand. I don't think I deserve her, even so I'd never let her go."

She is so angry then she can hardly contain herself, he knows what he's doing to her. Yet he continues to destroy her, calls her perfect and magical, while retaining a selfish desire of her. As if she is his Maker damned property. What kind of Maker sits by and allows this to happen?

_Fuck anyone who thinks me human and then demands perfect loyalty and complacency._  She thinks bitterly, fighting the tears that threaten to pour down her face.  _Everyone else is allowed to sin, but don't you dare Celia, don't even think about it. You are perfect lyrium, the power behind life giving water and destructive fire. Do not ruin yourself, that life was not meant for you._

Maric seems to take Loghain's words and swallow them well enough, their drunken conversation continues; but Celia cannot move on. Of course, her infuriating husband would think such a way, part of her wishes she were less furious at the notion. Wishes that fire within her would cease its stifling blaze so that she can finally breathe once again.

Even so she wills this rage to continue, to keep her alive as it always has. What Loghain forgot to mention about her lyrium heart is that lyrium is dangerous, that it drives men mad and kills them. Lyrium that is used by others until is it empty and useless; Lyrium which is coveted and abused, a necessary evil.

Women like Celia are only a means to an end, meant to be held on a pedestal until they are no longer of any use. She never wanted to be remembered, all she had ever wanted was to work in her father's shop unwed and happy for the rest of her days.

Now she has everything any sane woman would want, a husband who adores her in his own way, a beautiful daughter, wealth, a title, and an impeccable hatred for her life. She can hardly imagine that this life was hand crafted by any god, Maker, or higher being.

If it were, she decides, they must be evil in a cruel unknown way. Her lyrium heart threatens to explode; to give out and end it all here. But she does not budge beyond reaching up to clutch her heart, keeping it together and in its place.

Her husband is merely a mouth piece and a fool, never noticing that his character is nothing more than a subtext. That he is just as powerless as she is and this thought brings her great comfort; to blame the author of this tragedy instead of him. To say it's their fault, no more no less.

At least this way she can shut her eyes, swallow his infidelity, and give herself away to him without hating him for it. It will be much easier to give him what he wants if she can take all of his sins away from him and put them on another.

She hopes the conversation has melted into something new as she opens the door, her ears having gone deaf to every word expressed by the two men.

"Celia." Loghain covers his mouth, as if to hide the stench of alcohol on his breath.

"I think it'd be best for you to get some rest." She says resolutely, "I can lead you to your chambers for the night, Maric."

"No… Thank you, Celia." He says standing, with only a slight stumble, "Loghain showed me earlier this afternoon." He starts to leave, and Celia tries to ignore the heartbreak in his eyes, knowing her own pain pales in comparison.

The king kisses her cheek before walking past her and down the hall.

"Are you coming, husband?" She asks.

"I… I am not in the best state, Celia."

"You rarely are." She responds coolly. "Come to bed." Waiting by the door, she stares at her husband hoping he'll relent and follow after her. However, all he does is stare at her, intent, calculating. "Loghain?"

"Why are you here?" He asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you follow me here?"

"Because it is what you asked of me." She says, keeping her voice firm. He seems confused, he opens his mouth several times but closes it every time. He follows dutifully after her, as if this is the least he owes her.

The last night they are in Denerim, with the hot air stuck in their bed, they take their lovemaking into a cool bath. She revels in the way he falls apart before her, finds power in how easily this supposedly great man falls apart before the touch of a woman. Sex with him is the easiest way to silence, she has realized, and the silence is what she really craves.

So, she gives him what he wants, every touch and word placed ever so carefully; so that when it's all over, there is an indescribable reverence in the sloshing water and nighttime buzzing outside. She watches his head floating in the water beneath her, how relaxed and lidded his eyes are.

His hand is running through her hair making every strand bead with water. "I love you."

"I'm yours."

They return to Gwaren after that, and soon it is time for her husband to depart for Denerim once more. The loneliness hanging in the castle is interrupted by Celia's discovery of her pregnancy. Even knowing it is a futile effort, she writes her husband to tell him the news; she is not surprised to hear back with nothing.

Despite the life inside of her, she can't help the lonely feeling left inside of her day in and day out. Her pregnancy progresses and still no word comes from her husband; she wants to be surprised. Wills herself indefinitely to be hurt by his indifference, but she can't.

She delivers the baby at the end of the winter, far too early for anyone's liking; she writes to her husband to inform him that their son will not live past his first year and receives no word. Still, she loves the baby boy who looks too much like his father for her taste. When spring finally comes, it is particularly wet, the world is cold and damp, too nervous to wake up from a sleepy winter.

Celia names her son Hayden, she watches the little boy struggle through his first few weeks of life. Doesn't even notice when his father returns home unannounced with Maric by his side. She pays neither of them any mind, instead she stays with her son, watches his every breath until he is no longer breathing.

Loghain is with her when Hayden passes, the child still held in her arms, she turns into her husband's chest and weeps. She can't say this brings her any comfort, being held in the arms of this man this way, but having a presence as sorrowful as her own is. And her grief is only matched by that of her husband, who cries openly and unabashedly, looking to his wife for the same comfort he offers her.

That doesn't stop him from returning to Denerim some months later, but he does start coming home more often than he used to. In their grief, the couple grows back together, as if it takes a tragedy to rebuild something beautiful. For the first time in a long time, there's a kind of love between them that is untouchable, intangible to most without a storybook.

And she thinks that they have finally surpassed all of their difficulties. Perhaps, they needed this, needed to rise above all of the struggles of initial marriage to become one. Despite their tragedies they smile, they raise their daughter, and they are in love once again.

But the turning tables of tragedy do not let up so easily, and it was oh so promising in the beginning.

"Eamon is getting married, in Harvestmere, it would be rude of us not to attend." Loghain says to her one night.

"Eamon's getting married? Who in the name of the Maker would marry that?" She asks, the words flying out of her mouth without a heartbeat of silence passing between them.

Loghain laughs for a genuine moment before composing himself. "Some Orlesian woman, apparently they met in Redcliff."

"I suppose that makes sense, if you've met the man." She says shaking her head. "And he is aging, perhaps he paid the woman to give him an heir."

"Oh, you are a cruel woman." Loghain laughs at his wife.

"Have you seen the man I married?" She asks draping herself on his shoulders.

"He's no better." He smiles softly before kissing her.

"What of Anora?"

"I think she'll do fine in Denerim, she's nearly sixteen."

"You're not worried about her and Calian?"

"I've no reason to, he knows what I'll do to him should he treat her poorly." Loghain has made up his mind, and Celia is content to follow.

They leave not long after that night, and Redcliff is an underwhelming sight for Celia. She thinks back to Eamon's disgust of Gwaren and thinks he did not have much to speak of himself. However, she shoves away these thoughts in favor of civility; she has not held many events in the past few years nor has she been back to Denerim since the Queen's funeral. All of which to say, her manners will fail her should she allow the slightest breech in civility.

The wedding is audacious in its blending of Orlesian and Ferelden cultures; in the middle of the ceremony she catches out of the corner of her eye, Loghain physically cringing. She stifles a laugh and squeezes his hand as the sister continues in her obnoxiously accented drawl.

By the time the festivities are under way, Celia has noticed every noble Ferelden and Orlesian giving the couple discreet snide glances.

"The only thing we are all in agreement on." Celia comments to her husband during the first dance, Eamon and his bride seem to embody the tension in the ballroom despite the smiles on their faces.

Loghain laughs, "Now if only we could agree on a boarder."

"You could try your luck tonight, perhaps they'll want to be so far from all of this, the deal will be done."

"Don't hold your breath, unless of course you see a griffon around here and have yet to inform me." Celia laughs at her husband, applauding the end of a most awkward turn around the dance floor. "Would you dance with me, wife?"

She looks at him intently, "We haven't danced together since our wedding night, why now?"

He laughs, "Perhaps we can do better."

"Really?"

"If you must have a reason, Maric is about to be swarmed by every woman in the nation and beyond."

"So, I am but a distraction from the chaos?" She chuckles.

"Less a distraction and more a reminder how lucky I am to have you."

"As opposed to being alone?"

"As opposed to any other kind of being."

Still smirking at her husband, Celia takes his hand and for the first time in nearly twenty years, she feels a connection to her husband that she had thought to be long gone. The laughter she hears bubble out of him is nervous and awkward, like they are young once more. So, when she kisses him, it is genuine and so real her chest aches at the way that he feels the same against her. Like despite everything, they are two people who have always been the same, simply trying to endure a life together.

Maric eventually steals a dance, naming her sanctuary when the hordes of women are too overwhelming. This world, for all the good and bad it has been over the years, still holds happiness's Celia would not have known without her husband. There is a way that he smiles at her, so effortlessly and absolute she cannot doubt that there is love between them.

But love is merely a creature akin to evil; as soon as one learns its face, it has already changed.

"You're having fun, darling." Celia chuckles at her husband, his breath bated from dancing.

"Is that what this is?" He smirks at her.

"I should say so." She reaches a hand to his cheek.

"Let's get a bit of fresh air, I think the Orlesian's are closing in."

"And we can't have them ruining your one good mood."

"Absolutely not." He grasps her from behind and kisses her neck, eliciting a bright laugh out of her. The autumn air is crisp against their skin, there is a stillness all around them despite the muffled voices and music. Redcliff is a wet place, and at night it nearly resembles a painting; slick and textured in an unrealistic type of fashion.

Loghain hovers behind her, hands on her shoulders, and lips on the back of her head. In their older age, they have found a comfort in the silences, or maybe it is quiet that has saved their marriage. Their way of letting forgiveness melt between them when all they can manage is to succumb to the stillness of the world.

The servants bustle about even in the gardens, quick with their platters and linens, reminiscent of the night Loghain proposed all those years ago. Her hands light over his as gentle as possible, she coils up all of her grief and hides it way for this last brief moment of tranquility.

"Might I steal you away for a moment?" Maric asks Loghain, her husband walks away with one last kiss to her hairline.

Taking her skirts up in her hands Celia walks down the steps to a nearby bench, looking out into the court yard with a reverence she cannot name. When she sees a boy so strikingly familiar, she nearly collapses on sight. A youthful roundness still hangs in his face, but his features are undeniably Maric's; while Calian has a bit of Rowen in him, there is no such thing in this boy.

At first Celia thinks it's merely the evening mist, or a trick of the moonlight, an image contrived of her own imagination. But this little boy, he's real enough that one of the serving girls stops to give him a sweet cake and instructions. The longer she stares at the boy, the more certain she becomes, this is Maric's son; as old as her Hayden would be now.

Once she has rifled through her confusion, she feels a sadness well up inside of her; for Rowen, for herself, for this boy who has also now fallen victim to the game nobles so carelessly play. She realizes that Ferelden's are no better than Orlais, their secrets are merely closeted in nature, never so blatant as a display or show.

Part of her wants to approach the boy, to be kind and gentle with him, as he's clearly grown up a serving boy. Then once she registers fully that Maric has allowed  _Eamon_ of all people to raise him, she grows enraged. Eamon who only cares for blood, station, and convenience raising the king's bastard boy.

Celia gets up from her spot and storms back into Castle Redcliff, she rushes up to her room and tries to calm herself. To think through what she knows and what she doesn't; there is no way Loghain doesn't know about the boy, but if he does know…

She dresses swiftly and quietly, holding herself together with aimless thoughts and soft anger. She even attempts to lay down, but finds her mind so muddy with thoughts that she gets up to wait for her husband to arrive.

Which he does, late and happy, he hardly notices that she is sitting up for him until he too is dressed for bed, "There you are, love."

"Yes?" Celia asks.

"Why did you come to bed so soon, without telling me? Are you well?"

"I am." She says folding her arms, "May I ask you something?"

"Yes, dear."

"Maric has a son." She says plainly, watching his face pale before he gives a weak laugh.

"Of course, he does, our daughter is marrying him."

"You know what I mean, he has a son here. Why? How?"

"Celia, you're just… overthinking." Loghain claims weakly.

"I saw the boy, why in the name of the void did Maric give his son to Eamon?"

"He did no such thing." Loghain begins to raise his voice, clearly losing his cool.

"Why are you being short with me?"

"Because that brat is  _not_ Maric's." He says harshly.

"I'm not stupid, Loghain, I know he's a bastard, I don't care that-"

"We are not discussing this!"

"I want to know if you knew." She says keeping her own composure.

"Of course, I knew." He says lowly.

"Then why did you not offer to take that boy in?" She knows the answer, at this point she's trying to rile him up.

"We had just lost Hayden-"

"Admit that you did not want anything to remind you of Rowen, you and I both know that's your reason."

"Fuck you." He says plainly.

She narrows her gaze and shakes her head, "Hit me with something harsher, I know you want to."

"You infuriating bitch."

"And you are a pig with no idea how to live in a world where you are not above all else. You are a disgusting selfish fool." It is beyond childish to name call, but it feels good; to scream and accuse him of all the vile things she's been holding in.

He starts screaming at her, calling her curses and damning her to the void; she is no better, raising her own voice and curses his name in equal measure. There is a long string of back and forth rage, before she lays out a truth so dark, her mind had never touched the thought

"I wish we'd never married!" She shouts at him so angry she feels her vison falter.

"I am the best thing that has ever happened to you!"

"You are the biggest shame that I carry!" She retorts, the words are cruel, but she feels powerful finally voicing the hate which has built a silent home in her heart. "You are a despicable hateful man that hasn't a clue how to care for others that do not benefit you!"

His anger is raw as he curses her name, "You think you benefit me?!"

He is angrier, but her words are sharper, backed by years of buried emotion, "I am the only reason that anyone could be blind enough not to see that you are an adulterous whore!"

"You are nothing but a common wench who's only claim to greatness is that I fucked you!"

"Not all of us want to be great! It is that exact fucking need to be great that has turned you into a monster!"

"Then you are the one who married a monster in the making! I did not force you to say yes!"

"You think I could just say no to you!? I said no once-"

"I am no damned Orlesian, you cunt-"

"You may not be one, but you are no better than them-"

His eyes are wild with rage, his fists clenching as he shouts, "Say it one more time! Try me Celia I swear to the Maker and his bride-"

"You'll what!? Kill me!? Hurt me!? Show me the monster that you have become then! Show me the monster who would dare to hit his bride!"

He grips her shoulders and she attempts to shove him away, his grip is an unknown unbreakable alloy as he shakes her. "You revel in testing me! In giving me reason to kill you! No man would blame me!"

"No man indeed, but what of the Maker himself?! I will relish in whatever becomes of you in the next life!"

They start to shout incomprehensively at one another for a moment or two until suddenly, Celia is being pulled in one direction and Loghain in another. Celia hardly registers Eleanor's cool hands ushering her away, her eyes only see red hot anger.

Vaguely she hears her husband yelling over Bryce and Maric's voices, to leave well enough alone. The tears that fall down Celia's cheeks are boiling in degree, there is so much anger inside of her she does not acknowledge the embarrassment she should feel.

"Fetch her some water and bring it to my chambers." Eleanor tells the nearest shocked maid as Celia is guided into a neighboring room.

Once sat before a fire, Celia feels the burning in her cheeks intensify, "Andraste help me." She says ever so softly; her throat is raw from her argument.

"What did he do?" Eleanor asks.

"He did nothing, I suppose. I'm the idiot who married him." Celia responds blandly.

"Maker's Breath, Celia, what happened?"

The Teyrna doesn't know how to respond to Eleanor, how is she supposed to admit that this was a long time coming? That her whole marriage has been leading up to this moment? That whoever her Maker is, has a cruel and unforgiving heart?

There is a part of Celia that has begun to wonder if all people have different Makers, if she and her husband were crafted by different hands. This night has done nothing but prove her theory, Loghain was built to never understand, to be stagnant and infuriating. It has never been clearer, the man she married is a tyrant. A monster in the body of a man, and his disguise is wearing thin before her very eyes.

Celia's Maker, whoever they may be, did not craft the two of them in mind for one another; instead she was a mere after thought, given to the man whom no other could love. The twist of this tale? Even she could not love the man so determined to remain as he is, and the process of this lesson has left her a wasteland.

"Celia, please speak with me."

"I have no words, I'm afraid… I must have used them all." She says taking the glass of water that is offered to her.

The two high ladies sit together for some time, listening to the scrabbling terse argument next door. If their nearly normal tones are easily overheard, Celia wonders how much of their conversation the Couslands and Maric had heard.

Then a knock on the door comes, Celia remains where she sits, face over heated from the fire, but too drained to move.

"Darling, Maric would like a moment with Celia." Bryce says lowly.

"Are you alright with this?" Eleanor asks the comatose Teyrna, the question is met with a nod. Eleanor leaves reluctantly, kissing Celia's head as she walks away, Maric passes into the room like a ghost.

"Celia?" She doesn't respond merely adjust herself to make space for him. "Will you look at me?"

"No." She says.

"I am sorry that I have caused so much pain in your life."

"It is not your doing, do not blame yourself for Loghain's transgressions, we have spoken of this before."

"I feel as though I am to blame."

"You did nothing to my marriage, that weight rests on mine and my husband's shoulders."

"Without me-"

"Without me none of this would have ever happened either. We will never know a world in which we do not live."

"I am incredibly sorry, Celia."

"As am I, but this is not your mess to fix."

"If there's anything I can do."

"There is nothing anyone can do at this point, Maric, you of all people should know that." Celia's voice would sound broken, were there anything left inside of her to be broken.

"He's-"

"A grown man who should be able to fix his own mistakes, but he can't."

"He's a deeply emotional man… Deeply being the key word." Celia says nothing else, so Maric asks, "Do you fear him?"

"Oh yes, in many ways, in every way."

"He won't harm you."

"Once I would have agreed."

"I don't know what to say."

"That means that silence is the only safe option then." She responds, silence and loneliness are her only real companions; she does not know what she would do without them.

What must be an hour passes before Loghain comes to collect her, she has never feared her husband until now. One look at him and she closes her eyes, he is altogether too much for her to handle, he does not try to touch her until they are back in their chambers. She sits on the bed, tired with a heavy heart and he stands before her.

"I didn't mean it." He claims, "I didn't mean any of it."

She continues to look at the floor, too afraid to say,  _I did_. Too afraid that the man before her truly is a monster and she is the only one who sees it; someday the world will see it too, when it is far too late to stop him.

He kisses her then and she allows herself the thoughts that she has so long buried inside of her. Loghain seems to think his cock has divine providence; that if he fucks her enough it will fix all of their problems. She hates it, but more than that she hates that her actions have allowed him to believe this for so long.

She hates that he believes it because it does work, he sticks it to her and she realizes how exhausted she is, how therapeutic his touch is. Celia hates that she still loves this man, hates that love can do this to a person, and hates that love has made her the kind of woman who lets her husband fuck her into forgiveness.

She lies there afterwards, feeling dirty and wrong, like her body has once again been used by him. Instead of sleeping, she gets up and watches the cool autumn scene outside of her window. Wishing that she too were like the crisp leaves, the most beautiful just before their death. Once she would have said that she were the spring, growth despite cold and adversity.

Life has its way of destroying everyone, in due time and with a special cruel kind of torture for each person. Somehow, Celia has been its victim time and time again, she feels like a mabari's favorite bone, torn apart and left in ruin.

The Mac Tir's go home, holding hands in a quiet reverence. Which is to say, they don't talk about the incident outside of the silences that threaten to eat them alive. They go on living, never once mentioning the druffolo in the room for fear of causing a stampede.


	5. Act Five

**Act 5: The part of the story that makes this a tragedy.**

Celia can't be certain of time's passing any longer, the days melt together into a mess of silence and emptiness. Some short time after arriving back home after Eamon's wedding Loghain informed her of his decision to keep Anora in Denerim and he would be staying with her. Celia's response was simple enough.

"I'm paying a debt that is not my own, for sins I did not know existed. Perhaps it's for the best I live in seclusion, at least this way I never learn what else you could have possibly done to get me here."

He calls her a stubborn woman, that he knows better than to argue with, she wonders if she should be insulted or honored by that; especially when he once called her patient and generous. Instead she lives a quiet life, pouring herself into her people; making sure the city is built well, that trade agreements are worthwhile.

Her parents die of old age, her family all but forgets the lonely little girl living in the big castle on the hill. Celia would forget herself if she could, let the ghost story of her life fade away as all things should. But her Maker is not a kind god, her Maker forces her feet forward and gives her strength in silence.

There is a part of her that feels strong again, without the ever-present figure of her husband looming behind her. The Teyrn is well, the city is thriving, and she is at the head of it all. But in the back of her mind, she knows that these credits will not go to her, rather the husband that she has not seen in nearly ten years.

She receives a letter from Eleanor telling her about Maric's disappearance, asks her if she knows anything of the search efforts. Celia sits back in her chair that day, she looks at the letter and feels a mess load of things attacking her all at once. Grief, guilt, anger, relief, complacency; part of her is not surprised that the mythic legend of a king disappears from his lands as they always do in stories.

The great king who saved the kingdom vanishes to fight on until his kingdom needs him once more. Then again, she feels the very prominent reality that this great man was only man, no more no less. Still, he was a friend and ally while she knew him, he was not a perfect man, and somehow that makes him all the greater.

Celia has a drink for him that night, as she mulls over the possibilities of what will be said of her husband when he dies. She does not wonder what will be thought of her before coming to the realization that no one will remember her, and she is just fine with that.

Some months later, near the end of the summer, she receives a letter from her daughter; while not uncommon, they are rarely so urgently sent. Anora writes that her father has gone mad with his search of Maric, that the only one who could possibly help drag him into reality is her. While reluctant, Celia resigns herself to her daughter's wishes, the Teyrn is well, and it isn't as if she has much else to do.

She does not take a carriage, she rides for some days, absorbing the bliss that is travelling alone. The air is just cooling, and Ferelden is a beautiful place to call home; all the country side she had passed so many years in anguish seems different now.

Time has been rumored to heal all wounds, but now she asks herself if solitude can do the same. Is she not more whole now that she has only had herself to carry? She feels particularly old, knowing that this earth is still the same, yet she is not at all. For better or for worse.

She arrives in Denerim to find the city lethargic, the streets are nearly silent, as if they wait on bated breath for the return of their king. Celia goes to the Gwaren Estate and is unsurprised to find only the servants. Many of whom she does not recognize, still some look at her with familiar eyes and greet her warmly.

Washing up quickly, Celia heads on to the castle, having sent word ahead to her daughter. The childish part of her feels nervous knowing that she'll see not only her daughter, but her husband for the first time in over a decade. Women in their forties have no place feeling childish at all, but she does as she approaches the palace.

Anora is there, rushing into her mother's arms the instant she sets foot inside the palace. There's a surge of warmth that Celia feels the moment she wraps her arms around her daughter. The fair-haired girl that looks just like her mother, but is truly her father's daughter. A lethal combination that shakes Celia at her core, nevertheless she holds her beautiful girl and smiles at the man who stands behind her.

"Hello, Calian, you look well." She greets.

"I am, thank you. And thank you for coming." He's grown well, the young dreamy eyed boy, now stands as a determined young man.

"Of course," Celia places a hand on her daughter's cheek, "I must come wrangle that father of yours before he runs Ferelden into the ground." Celia gives a tender hug to the approaching prince.

"Oh mother, he's acting a fool and nobody is bold enough to tell him so." Anora says clearly frazzled and at her wits end. Her letter had been downright desperate, practically groveling in nature.

"Darling, at least he's alright." Celia says with a chuckle. Taking her daughter's chin to tilt her gaze towards herself. "Your father has always been this way, I'll take care of it."

"Maker I hope so." Calian says rubbing the back of his neck, "I just want this mess over with." There's a sadness hanging in his gaze, a longing that Celia is all too familiar with.

"It will be, have courage, Calian." Celia gives her… future son-in-law, a kiss on his cheek. For so long he's practically been a son to her, it jars her that the couple is still not married. Perhaps that is for the best. Marriage is neither for the young nor the faint of heart; a lesson she had learned brutally.

"Where is your father? I'd like to get this done." Celia says.

"I can take you-"

"No no, I believe it will be best if I speak with him alone." She assures her daughter, Anora nods her agreement and points her mother down the correct hallways.

Celia uses the small bit of silence to gather herself before she stands in front of the very door that hides her husband. Her hands shake and her heart races; the man has some kind of hold over her that even she did not know the extent of until this moment. Still, she steels herself and knocks on the door.

"I'm busy." He responds. She cracks a smile, quite typical of him. She opens the door anyway, "I said-"

"I heard perfectly well what you said." She responds as he takes a moment, reeling at her presence.

"Maker's breath… Celia… What… Why are you here?" He asks, speechless and startled.

Celia looks at him and realizes just how old he looks; all the years of being weathered by the world are starting to settle in his features. His eyes are surrounded by darkness, his skin settling into his bones. If she didn't know better, she'd say he looks weaker, not the strong no-nonsense man she'd married.

"Your daughter contacted me." She says closing the door behind her. "She's worried about you."

"Why?" He shakes his head, stubbornness overriding shock.

"She thinks you're driving yourself mad, looking for Maric."

He sighs, clearly frustrated, "I'm fine, I'm the only one who'll keep up the searches."

"Because you're the only one who hasn't accepted the reality of the situation."

"Don't… Celia, don't waltz in here and start with me."

"That's why I'm here, to be the utter bane of your existence."

"We will find Maric-"

"Do you believe that he's still out there?" She asks truthfully, not an ounce of anger in her tone.

"I do."

"It's been two years, darling." He seems to startle at the way she acknowledges him, eyes softening at her just the slightest bit. "There are thousands of people who want him alive. Who hope as greatly as you, but the reality is that we can't find him."

"We just haven't tried hard enough."

"You have tried far too much." She says, "Be honest with yourself, don't you think Maric will make it back on his own? If he is meant to come back."

"I have always been the one to pull his ass out of trouble." He raises his tone.

"And death catches up to everyone." She responds in equal measure.

"He is  _not_ dead. He's… He's Maric." Loghain runs a hand through his shaggy hair, franticly looking at the notes on his desk.

"Maric is only a man, and he… He had his time just as we all do."

"Stop it."

"You will go insane if you keep this up." She says.

"You know nothing." He growls at her.

She steps forward bracing herself for the path she's embarking on. "Loghain, you're not the only one who's lost someone dear to you. Calian has lost his father-"

"The boy is too young, he doesn't know enough-"

"Nobody ever knows enough." Celia retorts, "Maric told me that once, because believe it or not I had a friend in him as well. Is your loss greater than that of Calian's? Anora's? The country's?"

"Damn you woman." He mutters, a beat of silence follows before he punches the desk.

"Will cursing my name help? If so do it, not that I've ever stopped you before."

"You're just as blind as everyone else, they've given up on him!" He shouts at her.

"Or maybe we've laid him to rest." She retorts walking even closer to him. "Perhaps we want to lay our king to bed, so that Ferelden can go on. Life is about moving on."

"What do you know about moving on?" He asks, voice jarringly even.

"Why can't you just accept that the world doesn't revolve around you?" She asks, tone equal to his.

"Then why are you here, Celia?" His voice is a growl as he reaches to grab her shoulders, "Tell me."

"Because my daughter asked me to come and smack some kind of sense into you." She retorts, "Was that wish too much to hope for, husband?"

There's a beat of aggravated silence, their breath mingling in the space between them. He's got what can only be described as a grimace on his face as he inches closer. "You never did know what too much hope was, wife."

Before she can respond he's kissing her, hot breath and tight hold on her arms, at first she starts to writhe in his grasp. But his touch melts a part of her that she'd previously thought to have been stone. His lips are so foreign and familiar that she is caught in the most sudden whirlwind. It is the most selfish thing in the world, and she knows that; but she revels in selfishness. Revels in the way that he too seems to become a puddle of a man in her touch.

He bites her lips and she shoves him in the direction of the nearest wall; they are angry and brutal, but that has never stopped them before. She practically rips the buttons of his shirt, shoving her hand to touch the skin beneath; she bites him back and tries to keep her composure as he elicits sounds she's never heard before.

Hasty hands and clumsy fingers, trying to remember a dance that has been all but forgotten for a decade. Loghain is impatient, furious in the way he gropes the laces of her dress, practically clawing her undergarments off. There is no passionate grace here, only primal want, the rawest kind of lovemaking any Maker could imagine.

Her body acts, pulling his hair and yanking his body closer when the space between them is far too great. They are greedy and anxious with the way they unravel before one another; Celia all the while wondering if he cares much at all or even notices the ways she's aged. She notices the specks of grey littering his body, sees the way he favors one hand over the other.

Love has always been hard to swallow, but this, whatever it may be, is nearly impossible. The taste of his tongue in her mouth is so unpracticed it's as if they're newly married; trying to discover the parts of one another that they should know by now. He feels so strange inside of her, with his awkward jerking motions and restless gasping breaths.

Celia is struck once again, realizing that they are old, nearing the end of their middle age, yet here they are fucking in his office. Maker help her.

When the passion between them has become only tiredness in their bones, they sink to the floor; clothes hanging off of their bodies, and themselves in a heap. Celia still straddling her husband, holding him as if her arms are broken and she can no longer move. His hands walking the lines of her body, breath tumbling out in tatters.

She lifts her gaze from his chest, sees the glossiness coating his eyes as the silence settles. He looks at her, takes her head in his hand and kisses her forehead, tender and sweet, an action that feels like an artifact from better days.

"I love you, Celia."

As if by spirit possession or muscle memory she responds as ever, "I'm yours."

They take a moment staring at one another in the aftermath of their escapades, looking for something in the quiet.

He speaks first, "Why did you come here?"

"I told you my truth, Anora sent for me."

He looks at her, eyes lighting a fire almost to conceal the sadness which lingers just beyond. "Does he not deserve the best?"

"You have given him the best, does he not deserve to join the Maker's side and finally know peace?" Celia places her hand over his heart, fingers brushing back the loose fabric of his shirt. She sees a sort of shiver pass through him as she touches him, a similar feeling passes through her.

"I can't give up on him."

"Then don't, give him peace." She feels her voice soften considerably.

"It can't have been for nothing." His voice breaks as he says this.

"It wasn't for nothing, it was for you." She assures him, he melts beneath her touch, growing closer to the floor as if he wishes to become it. Kissing the top of his head she continues, "Much of what happens after loss, is not meant for the lost. It is for those of us who remain.

"It feels like giving up."

"Sometimes, the right thing to do, is to give up." She says softly.

"Celia." He sighs looking up to kiss her once more, "What would you have me do?"

"Truthfully?"

"Yes."

"Come home, Loghain." She says, her voice so small she hardly registers that it is her speaking. "Come back to me."

He pulls her in, tighter, stronger, and it is then she realizes that he's just as broken as she is. Maybe there are parts of him that hate the way he treats her, hate the way she treats him. Perhaps they really are made of the same metal, what if they both have lyrium hearts? Dangerous, brutal, life giving.

When she notices he's crying, tears dripping down her back, she pulls her face from his chest and kisses his jaw.

"There is no one in this world that I have neglected as you." His voice is weak, hand curling up in her hair, fingers locked in the tangles. "I have not done right by you."

She doesn't know what to say, she merely cups his face and watches him disappear into himself for a moment.

"I… I'm sorry. I could not even give you my devotion, and you have asked for so little in our marriage."

"I know who I married, Loghain."

"I am not the man you married."

"Yes, you are, the Maker has not been kind to us… but we've made due the best we could. We are but men in a world that is imperfect." She presses her cheek into his chest, listening to the shuddering breaths he takes and the breaking of his heart.

"You're too good for me."

"Then give me what I want most. Come home with me, let us live the rest of our lives in peace. Leave Denerim to the young and hopeful." She feels her own tears melting onto his skin as she speaks, "Let Anora and Calian take up what you could not fix."

"I don't want to leave her."

"You have to."

He cradles her head in his hands as he says, "I'm afraid." It's the most plain he has ever been with her, and she takes his words with as much gentleness and kindness that she can. Shoving aside all the years of pain and anguish she takes his hands and holds them firmly.

"I mean what I say, I am yours, I will not abandon you no matter how tempting you make it. Despite all the broken promises we have left in our wake, I adore you. I hold you above all else. I may not always agree with you, or even like you, but I am always on your side. Even on the days that I hate you, I am sincere when I say that I love you. All the days of my life."

He kisses her then, and when they breathe he reminds her that he does not deserve her; as if she doesn't know this already. He proclaims her faithful, Maker-sent, devoted, states that every man should covet her if they are the slightest bit wise. She tells him to dress, as she herself stands to prepare herself to leave.

"Whenever you're ready to depart for the estate, please come get me. I'm going to inform Anora and Calian of your decision."

"Is… Is three weeks enough time for a wedding?"

"Plenty." She replies, shivering as she exits the study. The castle is much too large, the building feels eternally cool despite the summer air outside.

Celia finds her daughter and son-in-law in a small lounge by the library, Anora is up and out of her seat the moment her mother enters the room.

"Is everything alright? We heard shouting all this way down the hall and-"

"Everything is fine Anora." Celia says with a sad sort of smile. "Calian, dear… It's time we lay your father to rest."

"He's agreed to cease the search?" Calian is out of his seat and beside Anora in an instant.

"If you are ready to take the throne, Gwaren stands firmly behind you." Celia says, watching his face light up followed by immediate panic and sweeping grief.

"Maker's breath."

"You're ready Calian." Anora assures him, hand squeezing his shoulder. "Does that mean…?"

"We will stay for the wedding, but I'd like to bring your father home before winter."

"Of course… I… Anora-" Calian is suddenly tongue-tied, clearly overwhelmed with all that is occurring.

"You don't have to Calian. I'm here, as always."

"I'll be taking care of your father, should you require anything of me, please do not hesitate to contact me." Celia looks at her daughter and sees a startling sight. A glimmer of herself hangs in her daughter's eye as she gazes at Calian.

Celia's heart stalls, thinking back to when she had first married Loghain, how young and naïve she had been. Part of her wants to hide Anora away from this, convince her not to marry, inherit Gwaren and live without the grip of a husband. But the coldness in her heart ebbs away as she sees Calian take Anora in his arms. She prays then, that if the Maker has ever held a glimmer of care for her in his heart, that Calian will treat Anora better than the marriages they were born from.

Celia takes Loghain back to the estate, he does not see his daughter that night for fear of her seeing him in such a state. Over the next few days the city swells with nobles, and the Mac Tir's remain uncharacteristically quiet, keeping out of the business within the castle.

By the end of the week, a wake is finally held for the missing king; Celia stands by her husband holding his hand as the country mourns their king. Calian's coronation is two days later, the ceremony is solemn and extravagant. There's a part of Celia that has never felt so removed from court life, seeing the aged remains of her former tormentors and friends.

Ginevra is dead, has been for half a decade, Eleanor's two children flank her at the ceremony tall and strong. Time has taken its toll, the consequence of passing time is merely the loss of life, Celia finds herself content with this, despite the fear in her chest at the realization.

Three days after the coronation, Celia stands in her daughter's chambers, adorning her with trinkets and jewels for her wedding day. Again, she is struck with the urge to warn her daughter, tell her to run into the wilderness and escape this sentencing.

"Mother, what is that?" Anora asks drawing Celia's attention towards a crudely wrapped mound on her dresser. It's a silly thing at best, truthfully, all the same she presents the pin to her daughter, the first gift Loghain gave her. One of the few if she's honest, and she is so brutal in her honesty these days.

Her daughter's eyes water as she gazes at her mother, silently she hugs the woman who brought her into this world.

Celia allows herself to grip the fine fabric of her daughter's dress, inaudibly begging her, "Please don't do this."

Anora smiles at her mother, "I hope to find my own marriage as great as yours."

Celia's heart breaks, knowing that her child thinks so highly of her when the truth could not be more the opposite. "Calian will do right by you." She answers meekly.

The procession to the chantry feels like an extension of the funeral march, and Celia doesn't know if she should beg the Maker or threaten him. This world cannot be so devoid of joy and happiness that her daughter must also suffer the great trial of marriage. At the least she prays it be not as harrowing an experience for the young girl.

Celia is the last to enter the hall, every last person staring at the tearful mother of the bride; they must think her a joyous blessed woman. They must not know the grief that wraps her heart. Calian looks at her with a sense of pride and a promise, one she is desperate for him to keep.

She is nearly deaf to the proceedings, feels her husband's presence beside her once he has given their daughter away. Watching the revered mother speak but missing every word of it, the smile her daughter wears is undeniable, and it destroys her.

It is all over so fast she almost forgets to leave the chantry after her daughter, how cruel a tradition, to follow in the footsteps of the child that is no longer yours. Loghain holds her hand in a way that is unfamiliar, he's keeping up a distance from her that is heavy in the air without his reluctance.

They are tired, nothing like themselves and there's a part of Celia that is afraid to live with Loghain again. Knowing that after this they will be left alone together once more, it frightens her and yet she is far too tired to dwell on it too much.

Of course, the reception hall is filled with well wishers, people who approach Celia and her husband to remind them of how proud they should be. Their daughter, now a queen, Celia imagines that many of them would remind the couple that they are of common blood. She wishes to remind them that she has not ever forgotten the past, but is at a loss for the right words.

It all goes by in a blur, the music sounding softer than the reality, dancing faster than Celia's mind can keep up with. People pass her by with congratulations on their tongues and tears in their eyes, she isn't sure any of this is real until she and her husband are the last ones to leave the palace. The sun bright in the sky, though Celia swears there is a layer of smoke remaining from Maric's funeral service.

The world is cold as if in spite of the sun, and she feels emptier than she has in her whole life. Somehow the weight of this is unbearable, between herself and her husband. The reverence that hangs between them is thick and unreadable, yet all too familiar. So, when she feels the snaking of his fingers towards her, she knows all too well what's coming next.

It's exhausting, being married to a man who tries so hard to change, while his character is set as stone. Even so, she completes his tentative motion, grasps his hand and squeezes it tight, she hears the heaviness in his breath as he kisses her fingers. It's as gentle as she can expect of him, and it's enough for her to see him as soft as he'll ever be.

She expects there to be whispered wanting's and a grip that turns rough the moment his body overcomes her. But he doesn't, instead they get home, they get changed, and they lie beside one another.

At first in silence, and then he speaks, "Today was a lot to handle."

"That it was."

"Are you alright, love?" His voice is thick and muffled by emotion.

"I am, are you?"

"I… I don't know just yet."

"We'll get there." She reassures him, brushing back the tangled locks of his far too long hair.

"Why do I find that doubtful?"

"Because you're stubborn, part of me thinks you enjoy being miserable."

He chuckles, "That would be you."

"Hm… Well look who I married."

"Look indeed."

They lie there, hands tied up with one another just staring at each other in aw and shock. How they got to this place is so far beyond her comprehension, time has fluctuated so often and so strangely part of her thinks that all of this could be a dream.

She isn't certain sleep comes for either or both of them, before she knows it they're packing the last of their things. The carriage is ready to go, and Celia has a funny feeling that this will be her final goodbye to the Ferelden capital. She is both grateful and worried by this.

There is an ease that captures the two of them as they ride towards home, he speaks softly and shortly. At first Celia is afraid that this is his grief coming through, that he is so tired and so far, gone. But then one day when she catches him smiling for no reason at all, she realizes that this is who he is.

A quiet boy in a body far too grown up, too tired and too afraid to give up all of the responsibilities he's shouldered in his lifetime. Celia wonders what kind of child he was, what his mother would have said about him, if his father were loud or quiet like her own.

She imagines them a different life, one where she ran away from home to marry the farm boy. With a small house but a big family, no kings or queens to tear at the seams of their marriage. She imagines this man instead of the one she married and finds herself content.

Gwaren is bitter and cold, they spend the winter holed up in the castle, speaking softly and barely noticing the ever-changing world outside their stone haven. Calian is a popular king, although he finds himself still retconning the damages Ferelden sustained during the search for Maric, the people are happy with the current situation. The royal couple writes often, asking advice of the Teyrn and his bride, and this becomes a new normal for them.

Receiving letters to which they respond swiftly, usually sometime during the afternoon, together yet buried in their separate works. Celia has never felt closer to her husband, not just by proximity but in the way, he says her name effortlessly. Then how he decides not to attend that year's Landsmeet, it is the first time since their first year of marriage that they spend a full year together. It's his first full winter in Gwaren and he is left in awe the whole season long.

What a strange yet quiet existence she lives now, was this the life she'd always longed for? Is this her reward for all the suffering she's endured over the years? To have the quiet reverie of a life long unreachable?

Perhaps it is too much to hope for, a life in quiet domesticity, and for the year she is skeptical. Until she notices the rough edges of his tone never return, that his eyes are both relieved and bright. It's like he's become a person all over again, and this person is someone she is content to love.

One day, with the spring late and falling slowly into summer, they sit in the courtyard reading through missives and letters. His hands playing mindlessly with her hair, and she is so unconvinced of her reality she speaks without noticing.

"This isn't real." She says, confused when the words manifest in the air.

"What?" Loghain asks, looking up from his reading.

"I…"

"What is it, Celia?"

"This feels… I don't know."

"Why wouldn't this be real?"

"Have you met us? We don't…"

"We don't what?" He asks, hand laying gently over hers.

"Do… this." She says still clearly confused by the words she speaks.

This? You mean, live in peace?" He asks with a chuckle.

"We aren't quiet people." She says.

"Perhaps once we would have found this to be… strange, wrong. But maybe we've grown up."

"Finally?" She chuckles.

"It took us some time, I'll admit."

"Do you wish this were different?"

"I can't say I do." He admits.

"Why not?"

"You may not believe me, Celia, but I have missed you greatly." He sighs, "I know… I know that I have not been the most… Anything. I've never been the most affectionate, or kind. You deserved better from me, allow me to make up for our past troubles."

"I do wish things were different, I wish we'd had more time like this."

"Ah… Yes, I'm afraid I did waste many of our good years together."

"These aren't good?" She smirks.

"You are good, as for myself, I am uncertain as of now."

"And if I said that I feel as though I shouldn't love you, but cannot help myself?"

"Then I'd say you are but a fool in love, not that I'd mind. You always manage to make me the happiest I've ever been." He laughs.

"Is that so?" Somehow her hands had found the curls of his hair, fingers lazily dancing across his hairline.

He takes her hand and kisses it, "Perhaps we were never meant for a young sort of love; maybe the two of us were always meant for a quiet life."

"If you'd said that to me twenty years ago I would have smacked you."

"And now?"

"I wish you'd said it ten years ago." She admits feebly.

"Oh, love." He says, voice turning into a hushed apology, "I have done many things in my life, none worse than the way I've treated you."

"I… I suppose that goes for the both of us… Much as I tried to act otherwise."

"You are… If I were in your same position, I don't know if I could act half as graciously as you."

She looks away from him, "I am not certain of many of the choices I've made in my life… But I am certain that I hold our marriage above all else."

"I don't know what I did to deserve you."

She scoffs, "Neither do I."

"In a good way, love?"

"I can't be entirely certain."

"Perhaps then, I am not worthy."

She laughs, "Is that so?"

"Shall I make my atonement dear? As your husband in the eyes of the Maker and his own bride?"

"We've spent so much time apologizing, Loghain."

"We've spent far too much time on things less worthy." He kisses her jaw, soft kinds of kisses that are feather light and sickening in their sweetness. "You deserve this world and the next, allow me to show you my gratefulness."

"I'm not stopping you, am I?" She teases so coyly he looks at her in what is nearly shyness. Blushing as he is, he takes her, nestling into the crooks of her body, skin flushed and warm all the while.

They are not as young as they used to be, they are not wild with their dalliances; rather they are controlled and dignified truly a fear for most lovers growing old. But it is control that gives them peace, to know and feel security in one another. Something so foreign yet known all too well to them in this moment.

The two of them are embarrassed and shocked by their own inability to regain their breath and footing once all is over.

Celia laughs, "What a pair we make."

"Perhaps Rowen and Maric had the right idea, getting out before all of this."

"You'd prefer to be dead than dead tired from lovemaking?"

"Maker no…" He laughs nervously, still shaking as he lies back down on the floor, "I just wish I didn't feel like sleeping now."

"As I recall, you've never been a particularly active partner." She teases.

"What are you implying?" He laughs.

"I'm not implying anything, you've never been the type to indulge more than once a day."

"Would you have had me?"

"There is no denying you, love."

"Really? For someone who believes that sentiment, you really have tried me over the years."

Celia hovers over him for a moment, eyes deep and desperate as she expresses, "I am yours Loghain, I always have been, Maker knows how or why… I am yours, before, now, and always."

His eyes have watered as she speaks, his hand reaching up to tie up his fingers in her hair, "I could never express my gratefulness to you Celia, I love you so much." He pulls her to his chest and kisses her head for a long while, breathing her in as if suddenly realizing how quickly moments like this pass. "I thought I knew love before you, but I clearly did not."

Part of her cannot believe he's mentioning this now, the other wants him to continue, "What do you mean?"

"The way that you love… it is so total and pure, you have the patience and grace of a goddess; you are steadfast and loyal."

"Yet stubborn and spiteful." She adds.

"Maker knows I've given you reason to have more sins than you harbor." He says, but before he can say anything more she kisses him quickly.

"Let us not speak of deserving any longer, we'll go in circles."

"I love you."

"And I love you."

But pretty things, Celia had learned, never last; though this time the quiet and sweetness lingers beyond the days and weeks. Melting into months and even two full years from that day.

Softness so palatable, even Anora and Calian notice when they come for a visit in the early days of spring. They seem to relax in mere moments of entering the home, something that would have been unfathomable some time ago. And would become unfathomable again much faster than any would expect.

For now, Celia finds what she has become used to, contentedness, listens to the soft tones of her husband's voice and holds her daughter's hand. It's a life kinder than any Maker she knows of would have allowed, so she cherishes it as such.

The same cannot be said for her husband, she finds out much too late, one morning before the sun is but a sliver in the sky she sees herself wandering through the castle. She is not late in years, but she is late in life, though she would not guess such so quickly. It truly is as if the world is taunting her, that life cannot be so content without the added pain she must endure.

In his office she finds letters and journal entries, writings that detail his longing for war, for simpler days he calls them. Celia would have never guessed in a thousand life times that Loghain would keep a journal, but the writing is undeniably his. His most recent works elaborate his own thoughts of loneliness in Gwaren, how truly he believes that his wife deserves better.

_Celia, my dear Celia, sometimes I think it a pity how much I love her. She would have lived a life much better without my presence, I only seem to bring her devastation. Perhaps that is all I have ever and will ever cause, chaos. Yes, war is much more my pace, without it I feel as though I have no worth, and this place is so dreadfully quiet. But Celia, she loves this self that I have created for her, so I continue on; perhaps it is wrong to lie like this, but I fear she could not handle the truth. Maker knows I have put her poor soul through enough._

_And what would I say to her? That I must leave her once again because I cannot stand to stay here a minute more? That I resent the place the bore her? Do I abandon the only pillar of righteousness I have managed to hold in this life? She is much too good for that, but does she deserve to love a lie of a man?_

_Some nights, I blame the Maker, think that he would have been kinder to allow her to die in the hands of Orlesians. Other nights I know the only one to blame is myself, for it is I who has taken everything from her. It is a better fate to endure this silent life, if for no other reason than the poor girl deserves a break._

_Maker have mercy on my beloved wife, the one who called me a monster, and was not altogether wrong._

She doesn't know if she should feel anger, sadness, or disappointment. She settles on exhaustion, the easiest of all of these, because it is truly impossible to believe that the only time in her life she has found contentedness in her marriage is a façade. Created out of pity no less.

It is one thing to be lied too, it is another altogether to be pitied. Without a word to her husband she sets herself up in her private study; picking up on an old nervous habit of nail biting to cope. Martha had told her once that life isn't fair, but did it have to be such a bitch?

In all the times in her life that she has wanted to die none have been quite so prominent as this. This time, she feels as if it would do her better to commit the deed herself, and that is a thought she would have never imagined herself possessing. What scares her more, is that she filters through the easiest ways to follow through with the act.

 _What_   _a silly thing to kill yourself over_ , she chides herself internally before running through every pain that this marriage has ever caused her. People have certainly killed themselves over less, and barely a year after she would have called herself the happiest she's ever been. Her mind is sick with heartache, and this time it feels as though her heart is struggling to beat. The chest pains leave her aching with each swelling beat, it's hesitant and lingering as if her body wonders if in fact it should be continuing on.

"How much life am I meant to endure before you let me fucking be?" She vocalizes to the sky above, even with the ceiling blocking her, she imagines the Maker in his throne glaring as her insolence. Tears streaming down her cheeks as she glances skyward. "You're just as cowardly as the men you abandoned, you are no god… If you made us this way, then I cannot imagine all the flaws and sins you possess."

She weeps into her hands, "I am so tired."

She does not see Loghain that day, when he inquires about it as they ready for bed she responds, "I apologize, I'm afraid I'm not feeling well."

"Would you like to send for a healer?" He asks.

"I'd like to sleep, see if that helps any. Perhaps I should sleep in my own chambers?"

"No." He says, resolute as ever, "Should you require help in the night, I want to be there."

Resentful yet passive, she nods towards him and crawls into bed. His heat is stifling as the night progresses, she feels the fever creeping up her skin like the tendrils of a beast. Is it possible that for once if her meager life, the Maker listened to her? Is he finally granting her the wish she has been harboring in her heart?

Damn the bastard if so, damn the cruel creation that man kind has chosen to worship, imperfection named god. Can't anyone name anything a god if the wind blows in the right direction? Can't the Maker simply be a farce? All of this suffering for one lifetime is strictly impossible, it has to be.

It cannot be possible that she has been put in a story where she is but a means to an end. Where she, the brave Garrison girl who stood at the feet of dictators and spat at them, the girl who took thirty lashes and lived, the one who lay in her own blood and dirt still swearing and squirming beneath her oppressors. That girl, the bold, bright, beautiful girl who once was a shining example of all Gwaren has to offer; will only ever be Anora's mother, the queen's mother, and Loghain's bride, the wife of the hero.

The wife he never truly wanted, the one he merely chose out of convenience and lust yet had the audacity to fall in love with her. Celia wants to fight this fate but knows it's futile, perhaps that's why she's really dying. Because she has nothing left to fight for, who has ever won their fight against fate?

Yes, it's for the best she succumbs to her fever, it will all be for the better that she dies and become what she was always meant to be, a footnote in a text. Maybe a higher being than the Maker is at work here, is there a higher power than the one who wrote you into creation?

She entertains the thought, perhaps the Maker is not the one she wants to blame. Perhaps it is the one who breathed life into her and gave her the voice to speak; a mind to reason her way through the madness that has encapsulated her life. Yes, that must be it, it is the one who breathes life into you, not the hand that crafts you, a statue does not learn to hate after all.

Her blood boils beneath the fever flushed skin keeping her trapped, there is sweat and blurred vision as the sun sweeps its way into the room. She is not in pain, merely uncomfortable, and oh so very tired. It may in fact be time to rest, for once and for all.

Just as her eyes flutter shut she hears her husband rouse from his sleep; she wonders what will become of him once she passes on, the possibilities are endless and frightening. His hand is on her forehead, checking for temperature no doubt, and by the franticness of the bed's spring beneath her, it can't be good.

Blurred as her senses are, she can't help but open her eyes, watching him as he stumbles into clothes. There is a startling lack of pain, a mercy even, as he calls for a healer. She manages to rest a bit before the healer arrives, in her state she does not catch his diagnosis, but she does not need to.

Celia knows that death is just outside the chamber doors, waiting for what? She cannot say, she merely knows that when he comes her way, it will be the relief of a lifetime.

Loghain is back by her side, chair pulled up to the bed, he takes her hand and kisses it softly, "You'll be alright, love, the healer's a right fool if he thinks a little bout of sickness will… will…"

"It's alright, Loghain." Her voice is not her own, it is far too deep and strained to be hers.

"It is." He agrees before standing up to meddle with something or another.

Time becomes but the color in their chambers to Celia in those last few hours, from the blue of night, to the purple of sunrise, then pale yellow of daylight to the copper of evening. Loghain grows more frantic every time she opens her eyes to find the light and the colors. She always did love colors, all kinds of colors that truly only Gwaren has to offer. Something her husband never stopped to notice no doubt.

The room is purple when she sees him crying over her, pity takes hold of her for a moment, watching the man lose the last bit of life he has. First Rowen, then Maric, and Anora to Calian. It is cruel that Celia abandon him too, but this, dying, it is the most selfish thing she has ever done. She relishes in it.

Still, she loves the man who has never deserved her, and it is with grace that she speaks, "Loghain."

"Don't leave me, Celia." He says, voice drenched in weakness and despair, "I can't live without you, I can't keep going on like this. I fear what I will become without you."

"Haven't I given you enough?" Celia asks weakly, "I have given you everything I have and still you ask for more. I have given you my body and soul, my heart, my mind, my fidelity, my sacred honor. I gave you all the love I have ever held in my heart. I bore you children, Loghain… And now you want to take my death away from me too?"

He lets out a whimpering sob, "Am I truly such a tyrant to you?"

"You are a complicated man."

"Please Celia… I love you. I love you. I love you." His weeping leaves her unfazed, death is so close to her she can almost see his looming figure.

She is reminded of her place, that she has always been his atonement, and now she gives it to him. "Do right by me then."

"Celia-"

"You know how, you have always known how. Just, this time… do it."

He does not wipe away his tears, instead he holds her close, "I'm yours."

Despite everything that has ever happened between them, all the history and pain. They harbored love and hate like no other romance could handle; she stood by him when he should have knelt beside her.

And though the future holds betrayal to this, her final wish; even with the haunting of her voice in the back of his head all the while he will betray her son. He will become to monster she foretold, and brings Ferelden with him in his spiral of insanity. All the while, knowing that his bride will look at him from the beyond in resentful disappointment, one last misuse of her trust.

The cognizant part of her knows that the man she's married and loved is a liar, a traitor even. There are so many reasons that she should go into the beyond with resentment in her heart, and yet in her final moments…

For the first time in her life, she believes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day, I'm here to uh, ruin it.


End file.
